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THE EYES OF THE TWO MET IX AX UXDERSTAXDIXG GLAXCE. 
Jane Allen of the Sub-Team Page 229 



Jane Allen 

of the Sub -Team 


By 

Kdith Bancroft 

Illustrated by 

Roy L, Williams / 


New York 

Cupples ^ Leon Company 




Copyright, 19x7, by 
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY 


\''v 





QCT 29 1917 - 


©CI.A477265 



)" 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Breaking the News to Jane 1 

II Fighting Things Out 10 

III The Token 20 

IV Going East TO Captivity 28 

V At the Journey ^s End 40 

VI A Serious Mistake 47 

VII The End of a Troubled Day 58 

VIII Beatrice Horton the Second 71 

IX Friends and Foes 82 

X The Letter That Was Not MIailed. . . 94 

XI A Pledge of Friendship 107 

XII A Loss That Proved a Gain . 123 

XIII In the Clutch of Hate 137 

XIV The Outlander 149 

XV Playing Fairy Godmother 160 

XVI The Lure of Basket-Ball 171 

XVII Helping Jane’s Cause Along 185 


V 


VI 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XVIII The Stunt Party 195 

XIX The Winning Fight 213 

XX A Question of Honor 230 

XXI The True Meaning op Christmas 245 

XXII Judith Speaks Her Mind 263 

XXIII The Unseen Listener 274 

XXIV To Thine Own Self Be True 288 

XXV A Friend in Need 300 

XXVI A Critical Moment 315 

XXVII The Great Game 328 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

The eyes of the two met in an understanding 


glance {see page 229) Frontispiece 

J ane spent the afternoon visiting her favorite haunts 25 ^ 

She sprang to her feet, holding up a gown of pale ^ 
blue and white 161 

^'Now we will talk,’’ she said calmly 308 


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Jane Allen 

of the Sub - Team 

CHAPTER I 

BEEAKING THE NEWS TO JANE 

'' A UNT MARY! Aunt Mary!’’ There was 
/-A a faint touch of impatience in the clear, 
^ ^ high tones, A tall girl in riding clothes 
ran down the stairs two at a time, lifting up her 
voice in impetuous quest of her aunt as she de- 
scended. At the foot of the stairway she paused 
for an instant to poke her head between the silken 
portieres that hung in the wide doorway at one 
side of the square, roomy hall. 

“Not here,” she commented as she entered the 
large, comfortable living room. Pausing before 
a convenient mirror, she set the smart little black 
riding hat she carried in one hand on a head run- 
ning over with russet curls, and briefly viewed 


2 


JANE ALLEN 


the effect. But her mind was not on the correct 
set of her hat, for an instant later she was out in 
the hall again. This time she tried the dining 
room, which lay directly opposite the apartment 
she had just quitted. 

“Oh, dear! How provoking. Where can she 
be, I wonder? She isn’t upstairs, I’m sure. 
Aunt Ma — ry!” Jane Allen’s voice was again 
raised in a penetrating call. 

“Here, my dear,” came a resigned response 
from the direction of the broad veranda that ex- 
tended half-way round “El Capitan,” the ram- 
bling ranch house which Jane Allen called home. 
“I heard you the first time you called. If you 
hadn’t been so noisy you would have heard me 
answer.” 

“Now, my dearly beloved aunt, you know I’m 
not noisy. I’m the quietest person in Montana, 
except when I can’t find you,” laughed Jane as 
she swooped down upon the slender, dark-haired 
woman reclining in the willow rocker, and gave 
her a resounding kiss. “Besides, you can’t blame 
me if I’m just a little bit noisy. Do you know 
what day this is? Of course you do. It’s my 
birthday. I’m sixteen years old this glorious 
September morning.” 

“I haven’t forgotten it,” returned her aunt. 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


3 


slipping her arm about the tall, slender girl at 
her side and smiling up into the radiant face bent 
upon her. ‘‘I’ll prove that to you at breakfast. 
You’d better put off your ride if you are anxious 
to know what I have for you.” 

“Can’t do it. Auntie. I’m slowly dying of 
curiosity to see what’s in all those packages at 
my place. I poked my head in the dining room 
and saw them, but I promised Dad I’d meet him 
at Coyote Rock and ride back to the house with 
him. He had to go down that way early this 
morning. We made the date last night, and now 
I’m off to meet him. I just wanted to tell you, 
so you’d know where I was. I’ll be back with 
him in half an hour. Look! Pedro is bringing 
up Firefly now. Good-bye, I’ll see you later.” 

Jane was off down the drive and across the 
lawn to meet the Mexican groom who was ap- 
proaching, leading a spirited horse. Its black, 
shining coat was unrelieved by a single white 
hair. 

“Isn’t he wonderful, Pedro?” she exclaimed 
rapturously, patting the beautiful animal’s glist- 
ening neck. 

“iSe, senorita/^ nodded the man, his dark eyes 
lighting with appreciation of the horse. “In all 
Montana there is none like him.” 


4 


JANE ALLEN 


‘‘Do you hear that, Firefly? But you mustn’t 
be vain and put on airs. ‘Handsome is as hand- 
some does,’ you know. You must prove our good 
opinion of you by taking me to Dad in a hurry.” 

With an agile spring Jane was in the saddle. 
The next instant she was off like the wind, one 
loose auburn curl flying out behind her, her 
changeful face alight with sheer joy of living. 

Her aunt gazed after the flying figure, an ex- 
pression of sadness in her fine dark eyes. “Poor 
Jane,” she murmured. “It’s too bad to take her 
away from all this. She’s as much a part of this 
western land as the mountains themselves. I’m 
afraid she will take it hard. I’m glad I don’t 
have to tell her.” 

Oblivious to what the future might hold in 
store for her, Jane was riding along her way at 
whirlwind speed, her alert eyes scanning the trail, 
every inch of which she knew by heart. Sud- 
denly she raised herself in her saddle and emitted 
a long, clear call. Far ahead she had spied a 
solitary horseman. 

“It’s Dad, Firefly. Hurry along, good old 
boy,” she urged joyfully. She began a vigorous 
waving of one hand at the figure ahead. The 
man on the horse waved his sombrero with a vigor 
equal to her own. 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


5 


“Good girll” he called out as she neared him. 
“You are here on the dot. Many happy returns 
of the day.” 

With the skill of a cowboy Jane brought Fire- 
fly to a standstill beside the big bay horse her 
father rode. Leaning over, she pressed her soft 
lips to his cheek. “Thank you. Daddy dear. 
I’m glad, glad, glad to be alive and sixteen. I’m 
really growing aged, yet it seems only about 
three days since I was eight and you gave me 
Benny, my first pony. I’ve had eight happy re- 
turns of the day since then and each one has been 
nicer than the last. I’m going to have a lot more 
of them here on the ranch, keeping house for you. 
I’m old enough now to take proper care of you, 
and you know you need a guardian.” 

A faint shadow darkened the clean-cut, sun- 
burned face of Henry Allen. He cast a swift, 
half -apprehensive glance at the radiant girl be- 
side him. Then, as one who has an extremely 
unpleasant duty to perform and decides to get 
it over with, he said: “Jane, girl, I’ve something 
to tell you this morning that I’m afraid^ you are 
not going to like to hear.” 

“Now what have I done?” demanded Jane, her 
gray eyes twinkling. “Is it about those friends 
of Aunt Mary’s that I ran away from the other 


6 


JANE ALLEN 


day? You know I can’t endure those stiff East- 
ern people from the Double U Ranch who come 
here to see her. They think I’m a tomboy, and 
besides, they ask the most foolish questions. Can’t 
you tell me some other time. Dad? This is my 
birthday, so you see ” 

“That is just the reason why I must tell you, 
Janie,” interrupted her father soberly. “Before 
your mother died, dear ” 

“Wait a minute. Dad.” The ruddy color had 
faded from Jane’s cheeks at the mention of the 
mother who had died when she was twelve years 
old. Now she slid from her horse and, dropping 
down upon a convenient boulder just large 
enough to comfortably seat two persons, beck- 
oned her father to her. “Sit here,” she directed 
solemnly. “Put your arm around me. I know it 
must be serious or you wouldn’t speak — of — of 
Mother.” There was a little catch in her voice. 

Her father obeyed. For a moment he stared 
across the sunlit space in silence, one arm about 
Jane, her hand in his. Their common loss was 
one that grew rather than lessened with the pass- 
ing years. Father and daughter adored the mem- 
ory of the woman who had been all in all to them. 

“Go ahead. Dad, I’m listening.” Jane braced 
herself bravely for what was to come. 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


1 


“Before your mother died,” repeated Henry 
Allen, “we had a long talk about you. She 
thought of your welfare until — until the last. 
She wished you to build up a strong, healthy 
body, little girl, but she was anxious that you 
should be properly educated, too. She could 
look ahead and see that there would come a time 
when the things of the ranch wouldn’t completely 
fill your life, so she made me promise to look 

after your education ” 

“And you Tiave^ dear,” interrupted Jane eag- 
erly. “I know as much now as Miss Evans does. 
Why, she said just the other day that I was well 
enough prepared to pass the entrance examina- 
tions to any college. No, thank you, though. 
Colleges are not for me. I’m going to begin to 
take care of you now, and learn how to manage 
a ranch, and lots of things. I know what you 
are going to say. I can guess. You are going 
to tell me that I needn’t have Miss Evans after 
to-day, or learn any more lessons. You think it 
will make me feel dreadfully to lose her. Of 
course, I shall miss her. She’s an old dear, but 
I can live if I don’t have a governess. There! 
Did I guess right?” Jane rubbed her soft cheek 
against her father’s broad shoulder and snuggled 
more comfortably into the shelter of his arm. 


8 


JANE ALLEN 


“I’m afraid you didn’t, girl of mine.” 

Something in her father’s tone caused J ane to 
sit up with a jerk. She cast a curious glance at 
his grave face. “Tell me at once then. Dad,” 
she commanded sharply. 

“Your mother was educated at Wellington 
Seminary, Jane,” he began, “and it was her wish 
that you should be sent there to finish your edu- 
cation when you were sixteen, provided you were 
prepared. From what you’ve just told me, and 
from what Miss Evans has reported of your 
progress in your studies, you are ready to enter 
the school. And you’re sixteen to-day, so, girl 
of mine, the time has come when you must leave 
Dad and the ranch for a little while and carry out 
your mother’s wishes.” 

“Oh!” burst in horrified tones from Jane’s lips. 
“You don’t mean it. Dad! You know you don’t. 
You wouldn’t send me away to live in a miser- 
able seminary! You know I hate the East.” 
She sprang to her feet in a sudden passion of 
anger and dismay. “Why, I couldn’t stand it! 
I’d die. What could I do without you and Aunt 
Mary and Firefiy — ^my beauty, my pet! I won’t 
go a step — so there!” 

From babyhood it had been tacitly acknowl- 
edged by those who knew her best that Jane 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


9 


Allen had a temper. It was not an ordinary 
temper that manifested itself at trifles. But 
when it did flash forth it came with all the force 
and fury that perfect physical health and 
strength could put into it. 

“I tell you, I won’t go!” she stormed. “I can’t 
help it if Mother did wish it. If — if — she had 
lived she would have understood and not — not — 
made you promise to send me away. I’ve read 
about seminaries, and they are horrible, stiff 
places where the girls aren’t allowed hardly to 
breathe. I know I’d die if I were shut up in one 
of them. It’s cruel in you to spoil my birthday 
like this. I thought I was going to have such a 
happy day and it’s ended in this before it fairly 
began. But I won’t go and you can’t make me !” 

With this proclamation of defiance, Jane 
whirled about and, running to where Firefly pa- 
tiently waited, swung herself into her saddle and 
swept down the trail at a breakneck speed, leav- 
ing her father to stare after her with troubled 
eyes. 


CHAPTER II 


FIGHTING THINGS OUT 

J ANE never remembered the details of that 
dreadful ride back to El Capitan. For her 
the glory of the morning had vanished into 
the blackest night. She galloped down the well- 
worn trail, consumed with furious, unseeing rage 
against the fate that had overtaken her on that 
day of all days, to which she had looked forward 
with such lively anticipation. At the very mo- 
ment when the future promised so brightly, she 
was to be taken away from her glorious Western 
world and packed off to school. A seminary, too ! 
Jane shuddered at the thought. 

Firefly’s sturdy feet pounding the drive 
brought her to a realization that she had reached 
home. She did not even recollect passing through 
the gateway into the drive. As she reined up at 
the stable, Pedro ran out. His dark face showed 


10 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


1 1 

no surprise at Jane’s sudden return. He was 
quite used to her moods. 

“Take him, Pedro.” Jane flung herself from 
Firefly and hurried toward the ranch house. Her 
one idea was to gain the shelter of her room, 
where she could fight things out undisturbed. 
Since her childhood days her room had always 
been her haven of refuge; her last stand in times 
of stress. 

“Jane, dear, breakfast is waiting,” called her 
aunt from the dining room as she caught sight 
of the fleeing figure. 

“Don’t want any,” came the muffled response. 
Then followed a rush of feet on the stairs and the 
resounding slam of a door. 

Miss Mary Allen‘s placid face wore an “I ex- 
pected-as-much” expression. She sighed, then 
rising from her place at the foot of the break- 
fast table, walked to the window. She guessed 
what had taken place. “Henry won’t be long 
behind her,” she murmured. 

Her prediction was soon verified. From her 
post at the window she saw her brother ride up 
the drive and in the direction of the stable at a 
rate of speed second only to Jane’s whirlwind 
method. Resuming her seat at the table, she 
waited to hear what she had already surmised. 


12 


JANE ALLEN 


“Where is she?’' was Henry Allen’s quick 
question, as he entered the dining room. “Poor 
Janie! I’m afraid I’ve spoiled her day.” 

“I’m afraid we have spoiled herj^ retorted his 
sister, with a deprecating shake of her head. “She 
is in her room. I heard her bang the door. You 
know what that means.” 

Jane’s father smiled whimsically. “Poor 
Janie,” he repeated. “It is pretty hard on her. 
Don’t you think so, Mary?” 

“Yes,” nodded his sister, “but still, we must 
remember that it is for her good and that — ^Doro- 
thy wished it. The fact of the matter is, Henry, 
that Jane has been outrageously spoiled. She 
rules both you and me with a high hand. Send- 
ing her East will be the best thing that can pos- 
sibly happen to her. She knows nothing of girls 
of her own age, or how delightful their compan- 
ionship can be. I suppose she went all to pieces 
when you told her.” 

“Yes, even the fact that it was her mother’s 
idea didn’t seem to count,” returned Mr. Allen 
soberly. “Perhaps, after all, Mary, it would be 
best to ” 

“Let Jane have her own way and grow up a 
hoyden,” interrupted his sister. “I expected you 
would weaken. You forget Dorothy ” 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


13 


“Don’t say that, Mary I” An expression of in- 
finite sadness sprang into Henry Allen’s dark 
eyes. “I can never forget.” 

“Forgive me, Henry. I was only reminding 
you of your promise. Dorothy understood Jane 
far better than you or I. She planned wisely 
for her future.” 

“I know it,” sighed Mr. Allen. “Still, I feel 
like a brute. She said I was cruel and that she’d 
die if she were shut up in a seminary.” 

“But Wellington is not a seminary, nor has it 
been for a number of years,” argued Miss Allen. 
“It’s an up-to-date college now and one of the 
finest institutions of learning in the East. Does 
Jane know that?” 

“She knows nothing whatever about it. She 
didn’t give me time for explanations. Shall I 
storm the citadel and bring her down to break- 
fast? She hasn’t looked at her presents.” 

“No; leave her alone to fight it out,” was Miss 
Allen’s wise counsel. “Once she realizes that she 
is defying her mother’s last wish she will give in.” 
Miss Allen busied herself with the coffee urn, 
while her brother took up a letter from the pile of 
mail at one side of his plate and opened it. 

Locked in her room, face downward on her 
bed, Jane Allen was sobbing out her resentment 


14 


JANE ALLEN 


and grief. It was all too monstrous to be borne. 
She could never endure it. Once she was impris- 
oned in that hateful seminary she would die. She 
didn’t wish to live, at any rate. Her father and 
Aunt Mary would be sorry. She pictured her- 
self slowly dying of grief and homesick longing. 
Some day, soon after they had sent her away, a 
telegram would come to El Capitan. Her father 
would open it and read, “Come at once. Your 
daughter died last night.” Then, when it was 
too late, they would understand. Jane wept 
afresh in sheer sorrow for her own untimely end. 

For an hour she lay, mourning and inconsol- 
able. At last she raised herself to a sitting pos- 
ture and glanced dully about her. Her tear- 
dimmed eyes rested on the face of her mother, 
looking down from her place on the wall opposite 
to the foot of Jane’s bed. The pictured eyes 
seemed to shed infinite tenderness upon the 
lonely mourner. Her mother’s portrait was 
Jane’s shrine. It was the first object on which 
she looked when awakening in the morning. It 
was the last she saw ere her eyes closed in sleep. 

As her troubled gaze sought the consolation of 
that earnest, sensitive face, with its tender, brood- 
ing smile, J ane was shaken by a sudden revulsion 
of feeling. What if those lips were to open in 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


15 


gentle reproach at her defiance? It was a simple 
matter to defy her father and Aunt Mary, but 
to rebel against the edict of the dead, adored and 
unforgotten ! J ane’s sorrow burst forth anew. 

“Forgive me. Dearest,” she sobbed. “I was so 
angry I forgot you, but I’ll try to do my best for 
your sake. I will try. Mother, I truly will.” 

For a little she sat brooding over what lay in 
store for her. Then, her tears dried, she dragged 
herself spiritlessly into her pretty white bathroom 
and bathed her face. As one in a dream she re- 
moved her riding habit and changed to a pretty 
white morning frock. “I’m a horrid, hateful girl 
to spoil Dad’s and Aunt Mary’s pleasure in my 
birthday,” she reflected as she dusted her face 
with rice powder to remove all signs of her re- 
cent upheaval of composure. “I suppose break- 
fast is over long ago and Dad has gone. It 
serves me right.” 

“Here’s my girl,” called a cheery voice, as she 
soberly descended the stairs. Her father stood 
at the door of the living room, his eyes alight with 
affection. 

Jane flung herself into his arms. “Forgive me. 
Dad ! I was afraid you had gone. I’m too sorry 
for words, but I couldn’t help — it.” Her voice 
quavered. 


i6 


JANE ALLEN 


“There, there ! I know all about it. But you 
mustn’t take it so hard. We hate to give up our 
little girl as much as she hates to give us up. 
Cheer up. The days will pass sooner than you 
think. You can come home at Christmas and 
Easter, too, if your vacations are long enough. 
I guess we can manage somehow to stretch them, 
if they aren’t. I’ll see to that. And when next 
June comes round you’ll be back for all summer. 
You’ve got to live and learn, girl of mine, and 
you can’t learn unless you go to school.” 

“I know it. Dad,” answered Jane contritely. 
“I’ve fought it out and now I’m ready for what- 
ever has to be. I’ll try to be brave and a credit 
to you — and — Mother. She looked down on me 
to-day just as though she knew.” 

Her father’s arms closed more tightly about 
her. There was a long, sweet moment in which 
the dead communed with the living. 

Miss Allen had kept discreetly to the living 
room during the little scene between father and 
daughter. Now she appeared with a brisk, 
“Jane, if you don’t come and see your presents 
your father and I will be so angry we’ll go 
straight upstairs and lock ourselves in our rooms 
for the rest of the day.” 

Jane’s sad face broke into a smile at this pointed 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


17 


assertion. “I beg your pardon, too. Auntie, for 
being so ungrateful. But I’m not really so un- 
grateful as I may seem. I’m dying to see my 
presents. Allow me to escort you to the dining 
room while I gloat over them and count them 
and thank you both.” 

With a return of the playful sauciness that 
usually brought her exactly what she desired, 
Jane offered both arms to her dear ones and they 
paraded into the dining room three abreast. A 
joyous session ensued as Jane unwrapped and 
exclaimed over her gifts, while the two who loved 
her best looked on happily. There was a bracelet 
watch from her aunt, an emerald ring from her 
father and a number of other gifts best likely to 
please a girl. 

“My special present to you is up in my room, 
Janie,” said Mr. Allen when the last package 
had been brought to light and duly admired. 

“Take me there this minute,” commanded 
Jane. “Come on. I’ll take you instead.” She 
had seized her father’s hand and pulled him to 
the dining room door almost before she had fin- 
ished speaking. 

“Oh, Dad, you old treasure!” burst from her 
lips three minutes later. “A real Mexican saddle 
and silver-mounted!” Then her pretty face fell. 


JANE ALLEN 


In the midst of her joy she had suddenly remem- 
bered that she could not use it. She was going 
away from her beloved Western trails to a place 
where girls were eminently proper and knew 
nothing of the joy of racing over hill and dale 
on the back of a horse like Firefly. Yet she had 
promised to be brave. She would not spoil her 
father’s pleasure in his gift to her by ungrateful 
repining. 

“It’s wonderful. Dad,” she said brightly. 
“I’m going to take it down and show it to Firefly 
this instant. I’ll tell him he must be good until 
Christmas ; then this beautiful saddle will be for 
him and me when I come home.” 

“I’m afraid Firefly won’t be here then,” re- 
turned her father, looking solenrn, but a twinkle 
in his eyes belied his gravity. 

“Not be here! What do you mean?” The 
light died out of Jane’s eyes. “Dad, you don’t 
mean — you can’t mean ” 

“Firefly is as sadly in need of an education as 
some others I know,” interrupted her father, “so 
I have decided to send him to a place called Wel- 
lington College.” 

J ane gave a little scream of rapture. “Firefly 
is to go with me! Oh, Daddy, dearest! I might 
have known you would plan something splendidt 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


19 


I’m too happy for words ! Firefly, my own beau- 
tiful pet! I’ve simply got to hurry and tell him 
the news. But first I’m going to hug you and 
Aunt Mary for all I’m worth and promise you 
that I’ll succeed at college for your sakes, or my 
name isn’t Jane Allen!” 


CHAPTER III 


THE TOKEN 

O NCE Jane had become resigned to the 
inevitable she allowed herself no mo- 
ments of repining. Despite Miss Mary 
Allen’s assertion that she had been thoroughly 
spoiled, the girl possessed a firmness of purpose 
and a desire to reach up for all that was highest 
in life which was to carry her far in later years. 
To be sure, occasional moments of sadness were 
hers as she rode her favorite trails and lived those 
last precious days at El Capitan. She was a 
true child of Nature with aspirations and ideals 
as lofty as the mountains under whose shadow 
she had passed from infancy to childhood and 
from childhood to young womanhood, and, al- 
though in her heart she believed that nothing 
which the East might hold could compare with 
the wonder of the great Western outdoors, she 
20 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


21 


was slowly but earnestly forcing herself to look 
forward almost cheerfully to her new life. 

Miss Mary Allen, however, was quite in her 
element in preparing for her pretty niece’s flight 
eastward. She was a gentle little soul to whom 
the sturdy life of the West appealed but little. 
Now she spent her days in poring over the cata- 
logues of the great New York stores and ordering 
the thousand and one articles she deemed neces- 
sary to complete Jane’s wardrobe. In this fasci- 
nating occupation she was ably seconded by Miss 
Evans, who had elected to remain to see Jane 
off on her journey before going on to fulfill her 
destiny as governess to a little girl in Helena. 
Two dressmakers had also been added to the 
Allen menage and the four women worked nobly 
in the cause of the girl who was soon to depart 
for pastures new. 

Jane resigned herself to long, tedious fittings 
and the trying-on of countless garments with a 
patience remarkable in one possessing so restless 
a spirit as was hers. With the exception of rid- 
i ing clothes, she had little love for feminine “frip- 
peries,” as she was wont to term them. Her off- 
I hand acceptance of the dainty frocks which would 
i have kept the average girl awake at night think- 
l ing of them was a matter to be deplored by her 


22 


JANE ALLEN 


aunt. “Wait until you are among other girls, 
and you will appreciate your pretty things,” was 
Miss Mary’s frequent cry when Jane exhibited 
less concern than usual over her wardrobe. 

But at last the final trying-on was over. Two 
huge trunks held the fruit of the combined labor 
of the quartette of women. There remained little 
to be done and less to be desired, so far as Jane’s 
needs were concerned. The dressmakers departed 
with much talk and good feeling. Miss Mary and 
Jane saw Miss Evans off to her new field of 
work, remaining on the station platform to catch 
the last flutter of the tear-stained handkerchief 
she waved from the car window. 

It was then that the weight of parting settled 
down upon Jane like a pall. One more day and 
she, too, would be compelled to say farewell to 
all she cherished. Firefly had already started 
East, surrounded by every comfort possible to a 
horse. Pedro went with him to establish him in 
his new surroundings and look after his general 
welfare. Jane had insisted on this, and expense 
being of little object when compared with his 
daughter’s wishes, Mr. Allen had consented to 
the arrangement. 

Aunt Mary had loyally announced her inten- 
tion of accompanying Jane to Wellington Col- 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


23 


lege, regardless of the horrors of car-sickness 
which railway travel inevitably brought her. 
Jane, however, would not hear of it. “You 
sha’n’t make a martyr of yourself for me. 
Auntie,” she declared. “I’m perfectly capable 
of taking care of myself. You know how sick 
riding on the cars always makes you. Dad thinks 
I need a guardian. He’d go in a minute if he 
weren’t so busy here. Well, I’ll excuse both of 
you. Sickness and business are good excuses. 
Don’t worry over me. Nothing short of a rail- 
way accident could happen to me, and neither of 
you could prevent one if you went along.” In 
the end Jane came out a winner, and after much 
earnest consultation it was decided that she 
should make the trip East alone. 

The last day on the ranch was a memorable 
one to the young girl so soon to try her wings 
in what would be to her an unexplored land. 
She was up at dawn, determined to make every 
second of that precious day count. After a hasty 
, breakfast she hurried to the stable and, mounted 
on Donabar, her father’s great bay horse, rode 
slowly down the drive, her eyes drinking in every 
familiar stick and stone of El Capitan as though 
to impress its changeless beauty upon her mind 
in view of the coming separation. She wondered 


24 


JANE ALLEN 


sadly what this strange, self-contained East, of 
which she had read with contemptuous disfavor, 
could possibly offer her in lieu of the grandeur 
she was about to give up. What were Eastern 
girls like? She had met a few of them, tourists 
for the most part, with whom she had come in 
contact at the mountain resorts and in Helena. 
She had not been favorably impressed with them 
and they had not liked her. At home, the incar- 
nation of joy and light-hearted youth, she had 
always retreated into her shell when approached 
by these ultra-modern girl-women whose lives 
had been spent in Eastern cities. 

There was one thing for which to be thankful: 
she was to room alone. Already arrangements 
had been made for her at Madison Hall. There 
she was to make her home, provided she could 
pass her entrance examinations to Wellington. 
Perhaps she would not pass them, then — ^Jane 
straightened herself in the saddle with a resolute 
shake of her head. She would permit herself no 
such doubt. She had sworn to her father that 
she would do her best and she intended to keep 
her word. 

The morning winged by all too soon. Noon 
found her miles from El Capitan. Jane took her 
luncheon from a leather knapsack which hung 



JANE SPENT THE AFTERNOON VISITING HER FAVORITE HAUNTS. 
Jane Allen of the Sub-Team Page 25 







OF THE SUB-TEAM 


25 


from her shoulder and ate her last meal in the 
wild, her gray eyes fixed on the far horizon line, 
where her world seemed to end. Long she ling- 
ered in that sequestered spot, trying vainly to im- 
agine what her new life would be like. Her ideas 
on this subject were decidedly vague and she 
could not see herself in the uncompromisingly 
dull picture her imagination drew. Aunt Mary 
had said that Wellington had long since ceased 
to be a seminary. It was now a college of the 
most modern order. That, at least, was a saving 
grace. 

J ane spent the rest of the afternoon in visiting 
her favorite haunts. What a flood of memories 
they recalled! Away over yonder in the foot- 
hills she had been lost for a whole day. It was 
when she had first owned Benny, her gray pony, 
long passed away with the things of her child- 
hood. She stopped for a little at Sentinel Can- 
yon, where she and her father had so often gone 
picknicking. Then she rode on to where Silver 
Tongue Brook babbled noisily down its moun- 
tain course. To the left of where she reined in, 
where the water was deep, she had once fallen in 
and been fished out by Pedro in a half -drowned 
condition. ^ 

• As she rode thoughtfully toward home, she 


26 


JANE ALLEN 


wished that out of the vast silence there might 
come some significant token of her long com- 
radeship with Nature which she might treasure 
and dream of until she returned once more to 
her own. 

The sudden shying of Donabar brought her 
out of her day-dream in a hurry. A sinister whir- 
ring sound filled the air. It meant but one 
thing. Directly in the path of horse and rider 
lay a huge, unsightly coil. Rising from its midst 
was poised a wicked, triangular head, ready to 
strike. 

“Be quiet, Donnyl” Jane leaped from her 
horse and looked about her for a stout stick. Two 
or three minutes elapsed before she found one. 
Then, with the fearlessness of those accustomed 
to the wild, she advanced upon the intruder of 
her dream and attacked it. 

The battle was short. This was not the first 
rattlesnake which Jane had encountered and fin- 
ished. Rattlers were common occurrences on El 
Capitan. Despite the wicked threshing of its 
tail, she stretched his snakeship to his full length. 
“It must be five feet, at least. Ugh!’’ She gave 
an involuntary shudder of disgust. “So this is 
my token. This is the sign,” she murmured. 
“Snakes mean enemies. To kill one is to conquer 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


27 


the enemy, so the saying goes. I hope this is not 
a prophesy of my future. I hoped I had deserved 
something better than this. Eut I killed it, at 
any rate, and if the new life brings me snakes in 
the shape of enemies — well — I’ll conquer them, 
too.” 


CHAPTER IV 


GOING EAST TO CAPTIVITY 

HERE’S your train, Janie! I hear it 
whistling.” 



Three faces were turned simultane- 
ously toward the distant bend in the railroad 
track which as yet hid from their sight the train 
that was to bear Jane Allen eastward on the 
longest journey she had ever taken. It still 
lacked several minutes to eight o’clock on this 
hazy September morning and the platform of the 
little station was practically deserted, save for the 
three who awaited the oncoming train with the 
dread of farewell in their hearts. Mr. Allen’s 
sudden exclamation had broken a heavy silence 
which had fallen upon them after they had left 
the automobile which had brought them to the 
station. Of the three, Jane was bearing up best 
under the strain of the inevitable good-bye so 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


29 


soon to be said. Mr. Allen looked unusually 
solemn, his stern, clean-cut features set in somber 
lines. Every now and then Miss Mary Allen 
wiped a furtive tear from her soft brown eyes and 
inwardly berated herself for thus giving way to 
her emotion. Jane, however, was keeping a tight 
rein on her felings. She had vowed within her- 
self to shed no tears on this, her going-away 
morning, and she intended to keep her vow. 

“Don’t cry. Aunt Mary,” she comforted, as the 
train hove in sight and thundered down the shin- 
ing rails toward them. “It is only until Christ- 
mas, you know. I’ll remember every word 
you’ve said about taking good care of myself. I 
won’t hang over the observation platform until I 
fall off the train, or speak to strangers, or do 
anything else that is likely to bring disaster upon 
my devoted head. I’ll ask oodles of questions 
so as to be sure to get on the right train when I 
have to make changes, and conduct myself in a 
highly commendable manner. There! Doesn’t 
that make you feel better? Smile your very 
nicest smile and say, ‘Jane, I am positive that 
you could travel to Asia Minor and back without 
even losing your timetable.’ ” 

Miss Allen managed to smile faintly at her 
niece’s heroic effort to cheer her up. “Of course. 


30 


JANE ALLEN 


I believe you are to be trusted, my dear,” she 
quavered, “but — but ” 

“No ‘buts’ about it,” retorted Jane sturdily. 
“IVe taken lots of far more dangerous and excit- 
ing rides on Firefly. This going-East pilgrimage 
is easy. All I have to do is to mind the rules of 
the railroad, provided I know them, sit in a Pull- 
man car, sleep in a Pullman berth, not the upper 
one, if you please, and all will be lovely.” 

“I’m sure I hope it will,” began Miss Mary, 
but the clanging of bells and the grinding of 
ponderous iron wheels checked further remark 
on her part. 

Mr. Allen gathered up Jane’s luggage, which 
consisted of a small leather bag and a suitcase, 
and with, “Come on, girls,” led the way up the 
car steps and into the train. 

“I wish your father had reserved a stateroom 
for you at Helena,” deplored Aunt Mary as she 
followed at her niece’s heels. 

“Nonsense, Auntie dear. I don’t want one,” 
retorted Jane over her shoulder. “Half the 
pleasure of traveling into strange lands would be 
spoiled. “I must be where I can see a lot of 
other people, or I’ll be so homesick I’ll get off at 
the first station and come trotting back to you 
and dear old Capitan.” 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


31 


“Remember,” cautioned her aunt, “you’ve 
promised not to speak to strangers.” 

They were now inside the car and Mr. Allen 
was arranging Jane’s effects. 

“Hang on to your checks and your ticket, girl 
of mine,” he reminded. “Now give us a last kiss, 
for the train is going to start in a minute and we 
can’t linger.” 

Jane threw her arms about her aunt and kissed 
her twice. Her last caress was reserved for her 
father. For an instant she clung to him. “For 
your sake and Mother’s, Dad,” she whispered. 
“Good-bye, God bless and keep you until I see 
you again.” A mist of tears blurred her vision, 
obscuring the retreating forms of those she loved. 
Dashing her hand across her eyes, she turned her 
face to the open window. A brief instant later 
Mr. Allen and Aunt Mary stood on the platform, 
directly under it. There was a warning jar of 
the train. Then it began to move. “Good-bye!” 
Jane called, striving to make her voice steady. 
“Good-bye until Christmas!” She strained her 
eyes as the train gathered momentum to catch the 
last glimpse of the two she was leaving. Her 
handkerchief fluttered a white signal of fare- 
well, then unmindful of possible curious eyes that 
might be turned upon her, she allowed the grief 


32 


JANE ALLEN 


she had so bravely suppressed to shake her. 

It was a brief storm of silent weeping that 
ended almost as soon as it began. Jane wiped 
her eyes, with a smothered exclamation of impa- 
tience for her moment of weakness, and sat up 
very straight in her seat. She was somewhat 
relieved to note that her fellow travelers had ap- 
parently paid no attention to her tears. There 
were not more than a dozen persons in her car 
and they seemed fully occupied with their own 
affairs. 

Reaching for her bag, Jane opened it and took 
out the first book of a series of stories which she 
had been saving for the occasion. The series per- 
tained to Eastern college life and she opened the 
initial volume and absently studied the title page. 
But she had not yet reached the point of settling 
herself to read. Her thoughts were centered on 
all she had left behind. She could see the spacious 
veranda of El Capitan and her own favorite 
chair, where she loved to idle an hour away, 
watching the changeful skies as the morning sun 
climbed upward and touched with warm fingers 
the home she had lost. She could see her father 
riding Donabar down the drive and almost hear 
her aunt calling, “Come to breakfast, Jane.” 

“Oh, what’s the use in thinking,” she muttered, 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


33 


as her eyes threatened again to overflow. She 
fixed a resolute gaze on the fleeing landscape, but 
that was also conducive of retrospection. She 
had made the journey to Helena so many times 
she knew by heart the country through which she 
was passing. 

With a forlorn sigh she sought once more to 
interest herself in her book. “Beatrice Horton’s 
First Year at Exley,” she read, then she turned 
to the first page of the narrative and began to 
read. It was not long before her recent gloom 
was swallowed up in the interest of the story. It 
was a captivating tale, cleverly told and war- 
ranted to hold the attention of one about to enter 
a similar field. Unlike herself, Beatrice, the 
heroine, was a poor girl who by reason of her 
poverty was made to endure many slights and 
insults at the hands of her fellow students who 
came from more fortunate walks in life. Jane 
found herself thrilling with anger at the unfair 
treatment of the much-abused Beatrice. Then 
and there she made a resolve that if she chanced 
to find a girl at Wellington in the position of the 
unfortunate freshman she would at once consti- 
tute herself champion to the ill-treated one. 

She wondered if such snobbery as was dis- 
played by Katherine Stanton, a particularly dis- 


34 


JANE ALLEN 


agreeable character in the story, really existed 
among college girls. Long afterward, when she 
had come to know the truth of many things which 
were as yet veiled, she remembered that morning 
on the train spent with the story girl, Beatrice 
Horton. 

It was almost dark when the train pulled into 
Helena. Jane had eaten a lonely luncheon and 
hurried from the dining car to continue the read- 
ing of the adventures of Beatrice. Her train 
east was due within a few moments after her 
arrival at Helena, and she had no difficulty in 
changing. 

Nine o’clock that evening found her in the 
berth which had been reserved for her by tele- 
graph, but sleep refused to visit her and she 
spent the greater part of the night staring out of 
the window at the strange shapes and apparitions 
into which darkness changes the most common- 
place landscape. 

Jane’s ride to St. Louis was one of unrelieved 
monotony. True to her promise to her aunt, she 
eyed askance the companions of her journey, ex- 
hibiting the reserve of a seasoned traveler. This 
had been no hardship. She had seen not a single 
face that interested her. There were fussy old 
men whom it bored her to look at. There were 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


35 


still fussier women, young and old, who estab- 
lished themselves in the dressing room and chat- 
tered common-places until she hated the very 
sight of them. 

It was with distinct relief that she at last 
boarded the train at St. Louis which was to leave 
her at her final destination. It had been a tire- 
some journey and she was glad that so much of 
it had been accomplished. She had long since 
finished “Beatrice Horton’s Fourth Year at Ex- 
ley,” and had experienced the satisfaction of 
leaving Beatrice a popular and triumphant grad- 
uate. Now, as smoke-blackened St. Louis faded 
from view and gradually gave place to the more 
open country, she found herself wishing that 
there was someone besides the obsequious porter 
to whom she might speak. For the first time she 
began to take a speculative interest in those about 
her. Her attention finally became fixed upon a 
girl of about her own age who was traveling with 
her mother. Jane guessed that the stout blonde 
woman, whose red face expressed a marked dis- 
satisfaction with the world in general, was the 
mother of the young woman she had noticed. 
There was a decided resemblance between them, 
although the younger of the two was tall and not 
so distinctly blonde in type. Both faces wore 


36 


JANE ALLEN 


the same supercilious look, and Jane discovered 
that she disliked the girl even more than she dis- 
liked her mother. 

At dinner that night she saw them at uncom- 
fortably close range, for they were seated at the 
next table to hers, and as both spoke rather 
loudly she could hear much of their conversation. 
From it she gathered, as she had surmised, that 
they were mother and daughter and that the lat- 
ter was, like herself, going East to college. 
Marian, she heard the elder woman so address 
the younger, was a self-opinionated young per- 
son who continually contradicted her mother, a 
lapse of breeding which the latter bore with a 
meekness that belied her arrogant look. “What 
a disagreeable girl,” thought Jane. “I’m glad I 
don’t know her.” 

Jane had leisurely begun her dessert when the 
two women swept from the dining car with the 
air of having conquered the universe. As the 
girl, Marian, passed her, something white flut- 
tered to the floor directly at Jane’s feet. She 
stooped mechanically and picked up the object. 
It was a hand-embroidered handkerchief of very 
flne linen. “I’ll give it to the porter and tell him 
to hand it to her,” she decided, but when she 
returned to her seat in the Pullman the porter 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


37 


was nowhere to be seen. For a little time she 
held it in her hand, then with her natural impa- 
tience of delay she walked boldly down the aisle 
and tendered it to its owner with a curt, “I believe 
this belongs to you. You dropped it in the dining 
car.” 

A battery of four critical eyes was leveled at 
Jane. With the unerring faculty which the eter- 
nal feminine possesses for appraising the mem- 
bers of her own sex, Jane’s expensive traveling 
suit of brown chiffon broadcloth, her smart brown 
hat and faultlessly matched shoes and gloves 
were noted and approved. Then the older woman 
beamed blandly. The younger took the hand- 
kerchief from Jane’s outstretched hand, bowed 
graciously and said: “Oh, thank you so much. 
Yes, it is my handkerchief. I did not know that 
I had dropped it. Awfully kind in you, I’m 
sure. It is so hard to keep track of one’s belong- 
ings when traveling.” 

Jane acknowledged the other’s thanks with a 
courteous bow and turned away. She had no 
desire for further conversation with the young 
woman. The deceitfully sweet recognition of the 
service made no impression on her. If the reci- 
pient had snatched the handkerchief from her 
hand it would have been quite in keeping with 


38 


JANE ALLEN 


the rudeness to her mother which Jane had seen 
her exhibit in the dining car. 

She was, therefore, not particularly pleased 
when the following morning she encountered the 
object of her dislike in the dressing room and 
the latter greeted her effusively. She returned 
the salutation with polite indifference, but did 
not encourage further conversation. Later in the 
day she was distinctly annoyed when someone 
dropped into the chair beside her and she found 
herself staring into the cold blue eyes of the girl 
she had privately decided she detested. 

“I hope you won’t think I’m intruding,” apolo- 
gized the girl sweetly, “but I’m awfully tired of 
no one but Mamma for company. We never 
talk five minutes together without contradicting 
each other, and you looked so interesting yester- 
day when you spoke to us that I made up my 
mind, then and there, that I’d like to know you 
better. One can always pick out really nice per- 
sons by their clothes and manners. Don’t you 
think so?” 

Jane smiled faintly. The innate snobbery of 
the stranger’s last speech was plainly apparent. 

“I really couldn’t say,” she returned evenly. 
Then she added, a trifle wickedly, “I suppose one 
is frequently estimated by them, however.” 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


39 


“Of course one is,” agreed the girl, taking 
Jane’s remark with evident seriousness. “I can’t 
endure shabby, frumpy people. All my friends at 
home belong to the best families in the city. My 
name is Marian Seaton and I live in St. Louis. 
I am going East to Wellington, a very fine col- 
lege, to continue my education. I attended Carl- 
ton Hall, a select prep, school, last year, so I 
don’t have to try any entrance examinations to 
Wellington. I’m going to live at the most exclu- 
sive house on the campus. The name of it is 
Madison Hall.” 


CHAPTER V 


AT THE journey’s END 

J ANE listened to this astonishing revelation 
in dismayed silence. Of all curious coinci- 
dences this was surely the strangest. It was 
on her tongue to exclaim, “Why, I am going 
there, too!” but she held her peace. With sud- 
den perversity she resolved to divulge nothing 
pertaining to herself or her plans. She merely 
inquired politely; “Have you friends at Wei- ; 
lington?” 

“Oh, yes. I know several girls there. Most , 
of them are upper class students. I have a chum, 
too, from Buffalo, who is to be my roommate. ; 
Her father is a millionaire and she owns a limou- 
sine and a riding horse. We expect to have glori- ^ 
ous times. I can have a horse if I want one, but - 
I hate horseback riding. Do you ride?” ' 

Jane nodded absently. At the words “riding J 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


41 


horse’’ her mind reverted to Firefly. She won- 
dered if he had made the long journey safely. 

“Have you a horse?” came the eager question. 

“Yes.” Jane’s straight brows drew together 
in a frown at having admitted even that much. 

“And have you a car?” 

“No, I hate automobiles. I only use them for 
convenience.” 

“How funny!” The girl eyed Jane specu- 
latively. She was not progressing so fast in ac- 
quaintance as she had expected. Her revelations 
as to her social standing and destination had 
evoked neither surprise nor approval. This taci- 
turn stranger who owned her own riding horse 
seemed worth cultivating, however. 

“Have you ever been to college?” she per- 
sisted. 

“No.” 

“Nor to a prep, school?” 

“No.” 

“I suppose you are going to visit friends in 
the East?” 

“No; I know no one there.” 

“Where is your home?” 

Jane’s frown deepened as she briefly named the 
town nearest to El Capitan. 

“Oh-h! Why, you live in the country, don’t 


42 


JANE ALLEN 


you? It must be awfully wild and uncivilized 
away up there.” 

“It is the most beautiful place in the world.” 
Jane forgot her late resolution, irritated into sud- 
den defense of her home, by the patronizing 
comment. 

There came a moment of silence in which the 
questioner endeavored to reconcile her smartly 
clad companion to her grudging admissions. 

“Do you imagine you will like the East?” The 
curious one rallied to her task. 

“No, I shall hate it,” declared Jane with a 
ferocious energy that caused the girl to stare, 
then say hastily: 

“I think I had better go back to Mamma.” 

Jane sighed grim relief at the retreating form. 
“She didn’t find out much,” was her inward com- 
ment. “I hope she stays away from me in fu- 
ture.” 

In the meantime the other girl was relating 
to her languidly interested parent the result of 
her gleaning, and remarking that she was sure 
Jane must be “awfully exclusive.” She also 
added that she intended to find out more about 
her before the end of the journey. 

But in this laudable effort she found herself 
balked at every turn. Jane was uniformly cour- 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


43 


teous, but most uncommunicative. She experi- 
enced considerable satisfaction in foiling these 
persistent attempts to learn her business and des- 
tination. She had no inclination to cultivate 
Marian Seaton, her chum from Buffalo, or her 
upper class friends. Her abhorrence of a snob 
was ingrained. Over and over again her father 
had said: “It’s not fine clothes or riches that 
count, Janie. It’s the heart. The poorest per- 
son may be the richest, after all.” Marian Sea- 
ton’s views of life spelled snobbery with a capital 
S, and Jane determined to steer clear of her. 

The long journey drew toward its end. Jane 
awoke at dawn on the last morning of her travel, 
and sitting up in her berth eagerly scanned her 
timetable. She would have time for breakfast 
before reaching her destination. She hurried into 
her lounging robe and bedroom slippers and made 
an early dash for the dressing room. She was 
glad to find it deserted. Early rising was evi- 
dently not in order with her fellow travelers. It 
was luxury indeed to have an opportunity to 
make her toilet alone and undisturbed. She an- 
swered the first call to breakfast, had finished 
eating and was in her chair before Marian Seaton 
and her mother had reached the stage of break- 
fast. 


44 


JANE ALLEN 


Jane had planned to leave the train first at 
Chesterford, the little city near where Welling- 
ton was situated. She had faithfully perused her 
college bulletin and knew that Wellington Col- 
lege was situated three miles from the city. She 
would hail the nearest taxicab, she hated busses, 
and be driven at once to Madison Hall. Then 
she need not encounter Marian Seaton’s aston- 
ished gaze until she was established in her new 
surroundings. She had no doubt the latter 
would be surprised. Jane smiled grimly at the 
thought. The snobbish freshman would have 
ample time to recover from her amazement. 

“Chesterford! Chesterford!” came at last the 
stentorian call of the brakeman. 

Jane Allen gathered up her luggage and made 
a hurried exit from the car. A fleeting back- 
ward glance revealed the Seatons deep in the act 
of collecting their effects. Disdaining the arm of 
the porter, she swung down the steps. Then she 
paused in sheer astonishment. The station plat- 
form was peopled with girls. They stood in 
eager, chatting groups or walked up and down in 
twos and threes. Still more astounding were the 
numbers of young women that were detraining 
from the day coaches far up the platform. She 
had no idea that so many students of Wellington 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


45 


had come to college on her train. There were 
tall girls and short girls, pretty girls and plain. 
The majority of those who had awaited the ar- 
rival of the train were dressed in white. Several 
young women glanced at her curiously as she 
hurried across the station platform. Just be- 
yond it she had spied two or three busses and a 
solitary taxicab. Jane made directly for it. She 
was glad no one had addressed her. In the Bea- 
trice Horton stories there had been committees of 
upper class girls who had purposely met the 
trains for the purpose of welcoming the newcom- 
ers. This evidently was not the case in real life. 
Jane smiled to herself a trifle satirically. She 
had not expected recognition, and yet deep in 
her heart she knew that she would have been glad 
if some friendly voice had said, “Welcome to 
Wellington.” 

With a contemptuous shrug for her own weak- 
ness she hailed the driver. 

“Yes, miss. Wellington, did you say? I’ll 
take you there directly.” 

Jane handed him her luggage and climbed into 
the taxicab. “I hope he’ll start at once,” she 
frowned. 

But the man lingered. He did not propose to 
stop at a single fare. 


46 


JANE ALLEN 


There followed what appeared to her an eter- 
nity of waiting. Jane watched the busy scene on 
the platform with absent eyes. Why didn’t that 
driver start? 

“This way, ladies,” she heard him bawl. Then 
she gave a subdued exclamation of consterna- 
tion. A trio of girls, walking three abreast, were 
heading directly for her. One of them was stout 
and dark, with bold black eyes. One of them 
was small and slender, with thin, nervous hands 
which she kept in continual motion. The girl 
walking in the middle was tall and blonde, with 
cold blue eyes and a supercilious air. Just ahead 
of them stalked a stout and all-too familiar fig- 
ure. Jane’s carefully laid plans had come to 
naught. The Seatons hadl overtaken her and 
their moment of surprise was at hand. 


CHAPTER VI 


A SEKIOUS MISTAKE 

J ANE’S first impulse was to step from the 
taxicab and scurry out of sight. The ad- 
vancing quartette were too deeply absorbed 
in their own affairs to have yet noticed her. Then 
she remembered that the chauffeur was in posses- 
sion of her luggage. She settled back in her seat 
with a feeling of despair. She was in no mood 
to explain to Marian Seaton and her mother her 
reason for having kept her destination to herself. 
It was no affair of theirs, and she did not pro- 
pose to answer the avalanche of questions which 
Marian was likely to hurl at her. 

“Step in, Mamma,” commanded Marian’s 
high-pitched voice. Suddenly her self-satisfied 
expression changed to one of undisguised amaze- 
ment. “Why What — where are you go- 

ing?” 


47 


JANE ALLEN 


“To Madison Hall,” Jane replied calmly. 
There was now no further use in concealment. 
It was hardly worth while to evade answering 
Marian’s question. 

Jane’s announcement served merely to in- 
crease Marian Seaton’s bewilderment. “Madi- 
son Hall!” she gasped. “Then you are to be a 
student at Wellington College ! Why didn’t you 
tell me ?” A note of resentment replaced the sur- 
prise in her voice. 

“It was not a matter of very great interest,” 
said Jane quietly, lifting her head a little under 
the concerted gaze of four pairs of eyes. Mrs. 
Seaton was glaring plain disapproval of Jane. 
Marian’s companions looked as though they won- 
dered what it was all about. A dull flush of an- 
ger had risen to Marian’s cheeks. 

“You might have told me,” she returned with 
a touch of sullenness. 

The chauffeur stood watching them with ill- 
concealed impatience. Time meant money to him. 
“Step in, ladies. Take you straight to Madison 
Hall,” he broke in signiflcantly, consulting his 
watch. 

“We aren’t going back yet, Marian,” drawled 
the stout girl. “Alicia expects a freshman cousin 
on the next train from the east. It’s due here 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


49 


in a few minutes. Good-bye. Well see you 
later. Five in one taxicab is rather too many.” 

“Wait a minute.” Marian whirled about and 
began a low-toned conversation with her friends. 
Mrs. Seaton had already disposed herself in the 
wide seat beside Jane. She was regarding the 
latter with open displeasure. Ignoring the now 
frowning chauffeur, the trio continued their con- 
versation. 

“Don’t keep this man waiting, Marian.” Her 
mother’s sharp reminder had its effect. With a 
last word to her friends, accompanied by a sig- 
nificant gesture which caused them to burst into 
laughter, Marian turned and entered the taxicab. 

Jane’s cheeks burned hotly. She did not doubt 
that she had been the subject of that conversa- 
tion and that the remark which had provoked the 
laughter was at her expense. Still she had pro- 
voked the rudeness. She could scarcely blame 
Marian. Yet she found herself raging inwardly 
at the latter’s prompt retaliation. 

With a snort of relief the driver turned to his 
car. 

“Wait a moment,” called Jane. Stepping 
nimbly on the running board, she slipped into 
the seat beside the driver. He started his car 
with an energy that plainly betokened his state 


50 


JANE ALLEN 


of mind, and it glided out of the station yard, 
bearing a most antagonistic trio. 

Jane felt rather than heard the remarks that 
were directed toward her offending back. In 
deliberately changing her seat she had thrown 
down the gauntlet with a vengeance. She was 
not particularly troubled, however, at the turn 
her affairs had taken. Tolerance was not one of 
her virtues. Nor was deceit one of her failings. 
She had never pretended what she did not feel, 
and from childhood she had refused to counten- 
ance those whom she did not like. Living near 
to Nature had given her an unusually keen in- 
sight into character for a girl of her years and 
she instantly detected and condemned insincerity 
and artificiality. She had mentally set down the 
Seatons as insincere and artificial and had quickly 
decided against them. Therefore it took little 
effort on her part to dismiss them from her mind 
and center her attention on the clean, wide streets 
of Chester ford, lined with charming residences of 
wood and stone, set in smooth, closely clipped 
stretches of living green, and shaded by fine old 
trees. She had yet to reach the stage when the 
longing for the companionship of girls of her 
own age would change the atmosphere of her 
whole life. She was still the free, untamed pro- 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


51 


duct of the wild, and the prison bars of civiliza- 
tion had not yet closed about her. 

The man at the wheel drove his car at as high 
a rate of speed as he dared. He was grimly en- 
deavoring to make up for lost time. He covered 
the three miles between the station and Welling- 
ton College in short order. 

Jane stared ahead with eager interest as a vast 
expanse of beautifully kept rolling green burst 
upon her view. They had reached the edge of 
the campus. On a gentle rise of ground, in a set- 
ting of magnificent trees, rose the gray spires of 
Wellington Hall. Here and there on the cam- 
pus were ornamental gray stone buildings of 
lesser grandeur. Some of them she immediately 
concluded to be campus houses where the more 
fortunate students of Wellington College were 
domiciled. Others she took to be halls devoted 
to the various arts and sciences included in the 
curriculum of the institution. 

The taxicab turned in through an open gate- 
way of wrought iron upon a broad drive which 
wound in and out of the vast sheath of velvety 
green. Here and there it was dotted with the 
figures of white-clad girls, with an occasional dash 
of color to relieve the effect. 

“Madison Hall,” called the man, slowing down 


52 


JANE ALLEN 


to a stop before an imposing four-story structure. 
Three or four girls, seated upon the broad, vine- 
clad veranda, looked indolent interest as the new- 
comers alighted from the car. 

Jane handed the chauffeur her fare with an 
additional generous gratuity that brought her a 
beaming smile from that disgruntled individual, 
and hopped to the ground. It was not she who 
had offended his commercial instincts, and heart- 
lessly leaving the Seatons to await his pleasure, 
before collecting his just dues, he carried Jane’s 
luggage to the veranda and deposited it on the 
floor. She followed him, and mounting the steps, 
cast an uncertain glance about her. A tall girl 
in white, with soft brown hair and large blue 
eyes, rose lazily from her wicker chair and said in 
a friendly voice: “How do you do? Can I be 
of service to you?” 

“Will you kindly tell me where I can find Mrs. 
Weatherbee? She is the matron here, is she not ?” 
Jane answered the tall girl’s pleasant smile with 
one equally friendly. She was drawn toward 
this courteous stranger. 

“Come into the living room. I’ll find her and 
tell her of your arrival. My name is Judith 
Sterns.” 

Jane bowed. “I am Jane Allen,” she replied. 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


53 


“Are z/02^^ Miss Allen? How funny! Pardon 
me, I don’t mean that there is anything funny in 
the fact that you are you. I mean that my re- 
ceiving you is quite a coincidence, isn’t it?” 

Jane regarded the speaker with puzzled eyes. 
What was she talking about? 

The tall girl interpreted her mystified glance. 
“You don’t understand me. Therefore I’ll ex- 
plain. You are to be my roommate.” 

“Your roommate!” Jane’s straight brows 
drew together in a frown. Then recovering her- 
self, she said: “Pardon my surprise. I applied 
for a single room. There must be some mis- 
take.” 

“Perhaps it is I who am mistaken,” returned 
the girl with signal good humor. “I can’t help 
saying that I hope I’m right, though. I’ve been 
looking forward to knowing a real Western 
girl.” 

“Thank you.” Jane could not bring herself 
to echo the sentiment. She was distinctly per- 
turbed at the prospect of sharing her room with 
another. When she had bowed to her father’s 
decree in the matter of going to college she had 
stipulated that she was to have her room to her- 
self. 

“Have a seat,” invited Judith as they stepped 


54 


JANE ALLEN 


into the living room, a long, light apartment with 
creamy walls, bordered in brown, and furnished 
in golden oak. “I’ll find Mrs. Weatherbee and 
bring her directly.” Suiting the action to the 
word, she left Jane to her own disturbed reflec- 
tions and set off on her errand. 

The sound of an electric bell followed by the 
murmur of voices caused her to turn her atten- 
tion to the door. Marian Seaton and her mother 
were being ushered into the room by a trim maid. 
They had tarried to haggle over the matter of 
fare with the long-suffering chauffeur. With the 
merest shade of a glance toward Jane, they seated 
themselves on a brown velvet davenport at the 
far end of the room. Jane turned an indiffer- 
ent gaze to the open window near her. From her 
chair she could view the veranda and its occu- 
pants. The girl who had introduced herself as 
Judith Stearns was apparently the only idler. 
All the others were deep in books. She guessed 
that they were preparing to face their coming 
examinations and she afterward learned that she 
had surmised correctly. 

The entrance of the maid with, “Come with 
me, please,” addressed to the Selbys, who rose 
and followed her, recalled to Jane the fact that 
her messenger was slow in returning. Ten min- 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


55 


utes went by. Still she did not appear. Two or 
three young women passed the wide, curtain- 
draped door of the living room, on their way up 
the open staircase in the hall. “Why doesn’t she 
come back?” was Jane’s impatient reflection. 
But twenty, then thirty minutes slipped by and 
still she sat waiting. Suddenly Marian Seaton’s 
high-pitched tones assaulted her ears. A deep, 
pleasant voice was heard speaking. Through the 
doorway the Seatons stood revealed, in conver- 
sation with a tall, stately woman in white with a 
crowd of snow-white hair framing fine, sensitive 
features. The three leisurely mounted the stair- 
case, while the watcher clenched her hands in 
sheer impatience, tinged with resentment. The 
woman with the white hair must be Mrs. Weath- 
erbee. If this were so, she, Jane, had been delib- 
erately ignored. It was humiliating, to say the 
least. Jane was obsessed with a wild desire to 
rush from the house and back to the station, there 
to catch the first train for the West. She had 
been right in her presentiment that nothing good 
could come to her out of this hateful East. 

Suddenly a familiar figure appeared in the 
doorway. There was a horrified, “Oh!” then 
Judith Sterns hurried toward Jane, contrition 
written on every feature. 


JANE ALLEN 


“You poor girl!” she exclaimed. “I hope 
youll forgive me, but — ^well — I really forgot all 
about you. I’ll tell you a sad but bitter truth, 
I’m dreadfully absent-minded. It’s my besetting 
sin. I started out to find Mrs. Weatherbee for 
you, and a girl I met yesterday, who rooms on 
the second floor, called me into her room to see 
some Japanese prints she was unpacking. We 
were so busy looking at them I forgot all about 
what I started out to do. When I did finally 
remember, I hustled down here as fast as ever I 
could. It’s a shame. I hope you’ll forgive me.” 
She fixed her big blue eyes on Jane so implor- 
ingly that the latter could not resist smiling a 
little. 

“It doesn’t matter. I believe Mrs. Weather- 
bee is busy at present.” 

‘Oh, have you seen her?” asked Judith in patent 
relief. 

“I saw a tall woman with white hair,” replied 
Jane. “She went upstairs with a young woman 
and her mother.” 

“That’s Mrs. Weatherbee!” cried Judith, 
brightening. “Well, whoever goes up must come 
down. I’ll go out in the hall and camp on her 
trail. That sounds really Western, doesn’t it? 
‘Camp on her trail,’ I mean. Some ill-natured 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


SI 


persons might spitefully say it was slang, 
though.” 

Jane smiled again. The sudden change from 
gloom to laughter made her face beautiful. 

“How delightful you look when you smile,” 
commented Judith naively. ‘T can’t help saying 
again that I’m really glad of that mistake about 
your room.” 

The sparkle died out of Jane’s eyes. She was 
not glad. Judith Stearns might be a very 
charming acquaintance, but she did not propose 
to have her or any other girl at Madison Hall 
for a roommate. The mistake must be rectified. 
She would see to that. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE END OF A TROUBLED DAY 

T AM very sorry, Miss Allen, but I am afraid 

I nothing can be done for you in the way of 
a single room now. I acknowledge that 
it was an error on my part. I cannot understand 
how I came to overlook your request, but unless 
one of the young women now here were to fail in 
her examinations I could not put you by your- 
self.” 

“But my aunt stated distinctly in her letter to 
you that I wished to room alone, and you wrote 
that you would arrange it,” reminded Jane 
sharply, her too-ready frown marring the beauty 
of her smooth forehead. She was not used to 
being crossed in her wishes and she did not intend 
to submit tamely. 

“I repeat that it was an error on my part.” 
Mrs. Weatherbee regarded Jane with dignified 

58 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


59 


displeasure. Once her ultimatum had been de- 
livered, she did not intend it should be contested. 

Judith Stearns had not failed in her errand the 
second time. True to her word, she had hung 
about the stairway until Mrs. Weatherbee had 
descended, then she had brought the matron to 
Jane and presented her to the latter. She had 
remained rooted to the spot, however, for hardly 
had the introduction been given when Jane in- 
quired coldly regarding her room, adding that 
she wished the error rectified at once. In her 
exasperation over what she mentally set down as 
very stupid management on the part of the ma- 
tron, Jane had quite forgotten the presence of 
her roommate elect and her cheerfully performed 
service, and delivered herself of a number of 
rather candid remarks on the subject. Hurt to 
the quick, Judith had quietly left the room with 
a most unflattering opinion of Westerners in gen- 
eral which it took many weeks of companionship 
with Jane to change. The tall, beautiful girl 
whom she had been prepared to hail as a comrade 
did not wish to room with her. Perhaps Mrs. 
Weatherbee might find a way after all to give 
this haughty stranger her desire. If not, then 
she made a solemn resolution that she would 
never force her friendship upon Jane. And thus 


6o 


JANE ALLEN 


the spoiled darling of a too-adoring father and 
aunt closed a door against herself that had 
opened so hospitably, and which would only re- 
open after she had learned the divine principle of 
giving and taking. 

“Perhaps you may be able to secure a single 
room in one of the other campus houses, Miss 
Allen.” The quiet voice, freighted now with dis- 
tant reserve, acted like a dash of cold water on 
Jane’s anger. She realized that she had met with 
a force which no amount of battering could break 
down. 

‘T know nothing of Wellington College or its 
campus houses,” she said sullenly. “My aunt 
wished me to live in Madison Hall. I shall, of 
course, abide by her wishes. It is unfortunate, 
however, that the error occurred. Will you 
kindly show me to the half of the room you have 
reserved for me ?” Her inflection became slightly 
sarcastic. 

Mrs. Weatherbee studied intently the pretty, 
belligerent face on a level with her own. Behind 
it she glimpsed something of the troubled soul 
within. “My dear,” she said impulsively, “don’t 
begin your college life like this. You are looking 
on the dark side of things. I know you must be 
disappointed, and I feel myself entirely respon- 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


6i 

sible for your disappointment. Cheer up and try 
to make the best of things. Do not allow it to 
cloud your freshman sky.” 

But Jane was in no mood for consolation, par- 
ticularly when the consoler was at fault. “You 
are very kind,” she returned ironically, “but I 
cannot help feeling that I have been rather un- 
fairly treated. However, as you have advised, I 
shall try to make the best of things. Will you 
please show me to my room? I am anxious to 
begin reviewing for my examinations.” She had 
intended to inquire the particulars concerning 
them, but disdained to do so. 

“Come with me.” Mrs. Weatherbee’s kindly 
interest in the newcomer vanished. “What a 
thoroughly disagreeable young woman !” was her 
thought. In silence she led the way up two flights 
of stairs and opened a door at the end of the hall. 
“This will be your room,” she announced briefly. 
With a courteously cold inclination of her head 
she walked away, leaving Jane in possession of 
the room in which she was to fight so many silent 
battles with her proud self. 

Jane set down her luggage and viewed her sur- 
roundings with contempt. This bare, gray- 
walled room, relieved only by narrow leaf bor- 
ders in a darker shade, suggested little of the 


62 


JANE ALLEN 


luxury of her own chamber at El Capitan. There 
were two couch beds, at opposite sides of the 
apartment, draped with tastefully-colored cov- 
ers. There were two chiffonieres, a dressing 
table, a wardrobe, two washstands, and a good- 
sized center table. There were absolutely no pic- 
tures. Jane learned in time that the college girl 
prefers her own scheme of decoration to any that 
may be devised for her on the part of the man- 
agement. The despised room had two good 
points, however. It was both large and light, 
with a double window that looked directly out 
on stately Wellington Hall. 

Prowling about it with the uneasy glide of a 
trapped animal, Jane explored the closets, of 
which there were two, peered into the wardrobe 
and tried the drawers of the chiffonieres. The 
first one stuck. Under the force of her sturdy 
arms it opened with a jerk. A quantity of hand- 
kerchiefs and collars tumbled out. With an ex- 
clamation of disgust she hastily replaced them 
and continued her explorations. Then, without 
removing her hat and coat, she threw herself dis- 
consolately into a Morris chair, the only com- 
fortable one in the room, and gave herself up to 
resentful thought. How she hated it all! 

For a long time she sat, staring gloomily out 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


63 


at the green campus. It at least was worthy of 
notice. She longed to rush out of the house, 
throw herself upon its emerald bosom and cry 
her heart out. A mission clock on the wall, tick- 
ing its imperturbable way toward noon, finally 
reminded her that she must visit the registrar’s 
office and learn what lay in store for her. She 
hoped that she would fail in her examinations, 
then a vision of her mother’s face rose before her 
and she rebuked herself for her unworthy 
thought. 

It was almost noon when she descended the 
stairs and passed out of the house to the veranda. 
It was deserted save for a solitary student, too 
deeply engaged in a book to raise her eyes as 
Jane wended her lonely way down the steps and 
across the campus toward Wellington Hall. She 
encountered numbers of girls walking singly or 
in twos and threes, but she was far too engrossed 
in her own dreary thoughts to pay any attention 
to them. She did not even note that a certain 
tall, blue-eyed girl had bowed rather timidly to 
her, then looked unutterably hurt upon receiving 
no answering sign of recognition. Unwittingly 
Jane had cut Judith Stearns. 

Once inside Wellington Hall she had no spe- 
cial difficulty in finding the registrar’s office. 


64 


JANE ALLEN 


That efBcient person was already deep in the 
business of interviewing prospective students 
who were soon to face the ordeal of entrance 
examinations, and attending to the wants of all 
comers. Finding she would have to wait her 
turn, Jane seated herself on a high-backed oak 
bench and began a minute study of the woman 
who was so important a factor of the college. She 
watched the plain, kind features which every now 
and then broke into a sunny smile at one or an- 
other of the stream of girls who besieged her 
desk, and decided that although she might be 
worth knowing, there was every possibility that 
she would prove as disappointing on acquaint- 
ance as Mrs. Weatherbee. Jane had yet to dis- 
cover that it was she, rather than those with whom 
she had thus far come in contact, who was at 
fault. But the moment of soul illumination was 
still far off. 

When at last she stood before Miss Howard, 
the registrar, and made her inquiries, she was 
received in such pleasant fashion that she actu- 
ally forgot, for the moment, her hatred of all 
things collegiate and met Miss Howard half- 
way, thereby registering on that business-like in- 
dividual’s mind a favorable impression which she 
never had reason to change. In the dark days 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


65 


that were to follow, Jane found in her, once she 
had learned to know her, a refuge in time of 
storm. 

After a friendly consultation with her over the 
printed examination program, Jane said good- 
bye and turned reluctantly away. She would 
have liked to talk to Miss Howard for hours, but 
she realized that even minutes were golden to 
the busy, eflScient woman at the desk. Consult- 
ing her new bracelet watch, which she had set by 
the mission clock in her room, she found that it 
was nearly two o’clock. Luncheon must be over 
at Madison House. That was of no consequence. 
She had plenty of money. She would walk into 
Chesterford and lunch at a hotel or restaurant. 
She swung down the stone walk with a sudden 
rush of exhilaration. She was free again, at least 
for an hour or two. 

She had not left the campus far behind her, 
however, when she came to a charming little 
house. Over the open doorway was cut in letters 
of stone “Rutherford Inn.” This was the very 
place she had been seeking, but had not expected 
to find so near the college. She did not then know 
that it held a place in the affections of the Wel- 
lington girls second only to the traditions of the 
college itself. She now remembered passing it 


66 


JANE ALLEN 


during her ride of that morning, but had given it 
a mere cursory glance. Now she went boldly up 
the flagstone walk and entered its shady, inviting 
porch. Then she paused for a moment in dis- 
may. It was fairly well-filled with laughing, chat- 
ting girls. Her first impulse was to turn away, 
then the quaint, massive tables of black walnut, 
decked with spotless linen and heavy silver, 
proved an irresistible temptation. She made her 
way down a broad center aisle toward a smaller 
table at the far end that was empty. Suddenly 
her face brightened. At the next table to the one 
for which she was aiming sat Judith Stearns, in 
company with two other girls. Jane’s talk with 
Miss Howard had left her in a softened frame of 
mind. Then, too, she had begun to feel a trifle 
lonely. Seeing Judith’s eyes fixed upon her, she 
smiled and bowed. But Judith deliberately 
averted her face and began a rapid conversation 
with the girl seated beside her. She had been 
once rebuffed, now she would show this haughty 
stranger that it was her turn to do the rebuffing. 

The red tide of mortification stung Jane’s 
cheeks. Her desire to be amiable vanished. She 
hurried to her table and sank into a high-backed 
chair, inwardly raging. So, this was the way 
Eastern girls behaved toward a stranger ! It was 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


67 


bad enough to be deliberately neglected as Judith 
had neglected her that morning, but it was worse 
to receive the cut direct. If she roomed with this 
rude freshman for a thousand years she would 
never, never forgive her ! 

She picked up the menu and strove to hide her 
mortification in a distracted consultation of its 
pages. When the waitress came to take her or- 
der, she had settled upon nothing, but desper- 
ately ordered creamed chicken and tea and after- 
ward remembered that she did not like either of 
them. 

Luncheon was a dismal failure. Jane managed 
to eat a roll and a few mouthfuls of the despised 
chicken, drank half a cup of tea, and left Ruther- 
ford Inn divided between anger and despair. She 
did not cast so much as the flicker of an eyelash 
toward her ill-mannered roommate. There was 
but one thing to be done. She would return to 
her room and begin her review. She would not 
eat dinner that night. She would remain up- 
stairs and study. 

On the walk in front of Madison Hall she en- 
countered Marian Seaton. Neither girl made 
sign of recognition, beyond a haughty toss of 
Marian’s blonde head. Jane smiled cynically. 
She did not object to being cut by Marian. She 


68 


JANE ALLEN 


rather enjoyed it. But Judith was a different 
matter. Jane could not forget her good-natured, 
friendly advances. Why had Judith seemed so 
nice at first and then behaved so rudely? 

After a somewhat lengthy toilet, during which 
Jane changed her traveling gown for a one-piece 
frock of soft white China silk, the only gown she 
had carried in her suit-case, her anger subsided 
and she settled herself to study. At five o’clock 
Judith Stearns entered the room. She glanced 
toward the silent figure at the window, appar- 
ently lost in study, then compressing her lips went 
quietly about her preparations for dinner. She 
bathed her face and hands, re-coiled her long 
brown hair, and departed as mutely as she had 
come. 

Determined to make a martyr of herself, Jane 
ignored the pangs of healthy hunger and stolidly 
kept to her room. She heard the merry ring of 
voices and the patter of light feet in the corridor, 
as the hungry girls of Madison Hall answered 
the clang of the dinner bell. Hunger at length 
compelled her to open her traveling bag and take 
from it a box of wafers and a cake of sweet choco- 
late. She dined in solitary state on these light 
comestibles, drank a glassful of water and re- 
turned doggedly to her text books. 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


69 


Gloaming fell, a soft, misty twilight with a 
thousand purple shadows. A crescent moon ap- 
peared and hung above the distant hills with 
tender grace. Jane strained her eyes to her task 
until darkness blotted out the printed letters, over 
which she bent in an agony of loneliness. Then 
her listening ears caught the soft tinkle of a man- 
dolin, mingled with the deeper notes of a guitar. 
A song rose on the still air. It was followed by 
a ripple of girlish laughter. Another song fol- 
lowed. Jane left her chair, and kneeling at the 
open window, peered out. She could just see the 
end of the veranda where the singers were evi- 
dently seated. 

For an hour the concert continued. Still she 
crouched at the window, listening. There came a 
brief lull in the singing. She heard a clear voice 
call, “Give us ‘Wellington, Our Alma Mater,’ 
Dorothy.” Several voices joined in the request. 
There came a particularly beautiful prelude, 
then the song rang out that had thrilled the heart 
of every student of Wellington for a generation. 

“Wellington, our Alma Mater, 

Hark, our voices rise to thee! 

Heart and hand each ardent daughter 
Pledges truth and loyalty. 


70 


JANE ALLEN 


Guard and keep us, noble Mother, 

Turn our thoughts to deeds of love. 
Kindliness to one another. 

May we ever faithful prove — 

To be ranked as thy dear children. 

In thy halls of deathless fame. 

Guide us, teach us, blessed Mother, 

To be worthy of thy name!” 

Jane laid her head on the window sill, swept 
by a storm of tearless emotion. This was what 
college might mean to her if she could truly live 
up to its traditions. ‘‘Guide me, teach me, blessed 
Mother,” she whispered. “Dear Mother in 
Heaven, and dear Alma Mater, for the sake of 
one who loved me and the other Mother whose 
child I hope to be. I’ll begin all over again and 
try to do my best!” 


CHAPTER VIII 


BEATRICE HORTON THE SECOND 

L ong after the song of Wellington had 
ended and the singers on the veranda had 
gone on to others, Jane lingered at the 
window. Her mind occupied with her desire to 
do well, the music did not continue to thrill her 
so profoundly. Lost in her own meditations, it 
fell upon dimly listening ears. If she were to 
begin afresh, first of all, she must have an under- 
standing with Judith Sterns. Ashamed of her 
rudeness of the morning, she did not wonder that 
Judith had appeared not to see her while at 
Rutherford Inn. Jane decided that she would 
apologize to her roommate as soon as she ap- 
peared. For an hour she waited patiently for the 
pleasant-faced girl against whose companionship 
she had openly rebelled. But Judith did not 
appear. 


71 


72 


JANE ALLEN 


When ten o’clock came, Jane’s natural impa- 
tience of delay overcame her good resolutions. 
She decided, somewhat resentfully, that Judith 
was purposely absenting herself from the room. 
As she had exchanged no words with her beyond 
those of the morning, she could not know that 
Judith was not with the singers on the veranda. 
Being among those who had entrance examina- 
tions to take, she was industriously carrying on 
a review in the room of Ethel Lacey, the girl on 
the second floor, whose fascinating Japanese 
print had been responsible for her defect as a 
messenger. 

When at half -past ten Judith gathered up her 
books, said good night to Ethel and sought her 
room, Jane was fast asleep. Bodily tired by the 
long journey and mentally worn out by her 
troubled thoughts, she had succumbed to slum- 
ber almost as soon as her head touched the pil- 
low. Judith made her preparations for sleep 
with the least possible noise. But before she 
switched off the light, she stole across the room 
to Jane’s couch and stood for an instant regard- 
ing her almost sorrowfully. If only this beauti- 
ful, proud-faced girl had lived up to the reputed 
whole-heartedness of the West. Judith felt that 
she had been cheated of that which she had had 


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73 


reason to expect. She wished that she might 
have Ethel for a roommate. The girl who was to 
room with Ethel would not arrive until the fol- 
lowing week. She wondered if she, too, would 
prove a disagreeable surprise. Ethel had said 
that her name was Adrienne Dupree and she 
lived in New York City. Judith gave a faint 
sigh of regret as she slipped into her bed. She 
hoped Ethel, at least, would not be disappointed. 

Though Jane’s first day at Wellington Col- 
lege had been one of unrest, her sleep was deep 
and untroubled. Her dreams were of El Capi- 
tan and the dear ones she had left behind. When 
her drowsy eyelids lifted, it was to find the sun- 
light of a perfect autumn day streaming in upon 
her. She gazed about her in sleepy bewilder- 
ment. This was not her room. Then recollection 
rushed over her in a dismaying flood. She knew 
only too well where she was. Her eyes traveled 
to the couch at the opposite side of the room. It 
was without an occupant. In sudden alarm she 
glanced at the clock. It pointed to ten minutes 
of eight. 

“Oh!” she gasped. The remembrance that her 
first examination began at half-past nine served 
to stir her to action. In spite of the fact that 
Judith had evidently kept away from her the 


74 


JANE ALLEN 


previous night, Jane still intended offering an 
apology. It now looked as though it would have 
to be postponed indefinitely. She smiled bit- 
terly. Judith was showing unmistakable signs 
of hostility. She had not even troubled herself 
to awaken her sleeping roommate. 

Jane performed hasty ablutions and proceeded 
to dress with commendable speed. Fifteen min- 
utes later she was on her way downstairs to 
breakfast. As this was to be her first meal at 
Madison Hall she was assailed with a curious 
timidity as she entered the attractive dining 
room, done in green and white, with its array of 
small tables, at which were seated the majority 
of the household of the Hall. Outwardly calm 
to indiflPerence, her heart beat a trifle faster as 
she paused just inside the doorway, uncertain 
where to seat herself. A tall, slender, brown- 
eyed girl whose plain white blouse and neat black 
skirt bespoke the waitress, advanced to meet her. 
“Will you come with me, please,’’ she said. “I 
will assign you to your regular seat at table.” 
Although she smiled faintly as she spoke, there 
was an air of subdued melancholy about her 
which keen-eyed Jane was quick to note. 

“Thank you.” Stirred by some unknown im- 
pulse, Jane’s studied reserve relaxed in a win- 


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IS 


ning smile. The gray eyes met the brown 
squarely, and in that one comprehensive glance 
each girl found a friend. 

The table, near an open window, at which Jane 
sat down was already occupied by two young 
women who nodded to her in pleasant fashion. 
One of them was a vivacious brunette, whose 
piquant face fairly irradiated sunny smiles. The 
other was a fair-haired girl with eyes as gray as 
Jane’s. Jane had a dim recollection of having 
seen her before. At least she bore a faint resem- 
blance to some one she had known. 

“Good morning,” greeted the fair-haired girl. 
“I was wondering where you were. I saw you 
for a moment yesterday, but before I had time 
to introduce myself, Mrs. Weatherbee marched 
you off. After that you disappeared most effec- 
tually. I am Dorothy Martin of the junior class 
and this is Edith Hammond, a most worthy 
sophomore.” 

“I am glad to know you.” Jane spoke with 
decided cordiality. She was greatly attracted to 
both girls. Then, too, considering she had de- 
cided to try to like college, she intended to make 
herself as agreeable as possible. “My name is 
Jane Allen, and I am from Montana.” 

“You’re a long way from home.” The viva- 


76 


JANE ALLEN 


cious girl smiled brightly, and looked prettier 
than ever. “You have the honor to be the only 
far Westerner at the Hall. You do rather sug- 
gest the West, too.” 

“In what way do I suggest the West?” Jane 
asked the question rather abruptly. 

Her imperative tone brought a faint color to 
the other’s cheeks. For an instant her smile van- 
ished. Then it reappeared as she replied lightly, 
“I’m afraid I can’t quite answer that. It’s just 
my impression of you, I suppose. I’ve never 
been West, but I’ve read a great deal about it, 
and — well — you seem to have a kind of independ- 
ence about you that makes one think of moun- 
tains and vast distances. Oh, I can’t explain 
what I do mean,” she ended rather confusedly. 

“I think I understand what Edith means.” 
Dorothy Martin’s gray eyes regarded Jane with 
kindly interest. “She is really paying you a 
compliment. You must have had a wonderful 
trip across country.” 

“It was rather uneventful to me. You see, I 
didn’t care to come here to college, so the journey 
east wasn’t particularly exciting.” Jane was in- 
wardly surprised to find herself making this 
frank admission. Then she suddenly under- 
stood. The calm face of this splendid girl re- 


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77 


minded her of her mother’s. And her name was 
Dorothy, too. Jane immediately felt adoration 
rise within her. Yes, she was sure to like Doro- 
thy Martin. Some day, when she knew her bet- 
ter, she would tell her of the resemblance. But 
not yet. 

“Not care to come to Wellington!” cried Edith 
Hammond, arching her dark brows. “You won’t 
feel that way after you’ve been here for a while.” 

“Perhaps not.” Jane’s dubious inflection was 
politely contradictory. She realized it as she 
spoke, but a strain of sheer perversity in her 
prompted the reply. She knew that she could 
not expect to become friendly with these girls as 
long as she persisted in it. “Now that I’m here, 
I hope I shall like college,” she amended rather 
hastily. 

“That rests entirely with you,” was Dorothy 
Martin’s serious response. “A freshman is a 
pioneer and to her college is a new country. If 
she is brave and resourceful she soon makes a 
home for herself and tries in every way to im- 
prove the claim she has taken up. Of course she 
is bound to meet with plenty of obstacles, big 
and little, but if she makes up her mind to re- 
move them, she is sure to do it, and this strange 
new country becomes dearer to her every day.” 


78 


JANE ALLEN 


Jane’s face kindled into vivid interest as she 
listened. Dorothy’s forceful comparison had 
sunk deeper than she knew. The idea of being a 
pioneer appealed immensely to Jane’s imagina- 
tion. ‘T think that’s a splendid way to look at 
it,” she nodded. ‘T shall always remember what 
you have said.” 

Before Dorothy could reply the girl who had 
shown Jane to her seat approached with a tray 
and served her with the cereal with which the 
breakfast began. 

“Will you bring me another cup of coffee, 
Norma?” asked Dorothy, smiling pleasantly at 
the waitress. 

The girl’s sad face brightened. “With pleas- 
ure,” she replied. 

Dorothy passed a few words of friendly con- 
versation with her, to which she responded with 
evident delight. 

Edith Hammond’s red lips took on a slight 
pout as the waitress turned away. “How can 
you be so chummy with that girl. Dot?” she asked 
petulantly. “You have really spoiled her. She 
acts as though she owned the earth.” 

“Please don’t, Edith.” Dorothy’s calm fea- 
tures grew suddenly stern. 

Edith’s expression of displeasure deepened. 


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79 


‘‘Why shouldn’t I say what I think?” she de- 
manded hotly. “It’s all very commendable in 
her to be working her way through college, but 
it doesn’t follow that one needs to make her an 
intimate friend. I believe in being civil, but I 
think it’s a mistake to go out of one’s class for a 
mere nobody. Don’t you agree with me. Miss 
Allen?” she turned expectantly to Jane. This 
haughty stranger, who bore the unmistakable evi- 
dence of affluence, was sure to prove an ally. 

“No, I don’t.” Jane laid marked emphasis 
upon her reply. “She seems to be a very sweet 
girl, and if she is working her way through col- 
lege she deserves a lot of credit. It’s not fine 
clothes or riches that count. It’s the heart.” Un- 
consciously Jane repeated her father’s oft-spoken 
sentiment. 

“Shake hands on that!” Dorothy reached an 
impulsive hand across the table. In that brief 
handclasp the two met on common ground and 
Jane made another friend who was destined to 
stand loyally by her through good and evil re- 
port. 

“You are both hopeless.” Edith laughed 
mirthlessly, shrugging her graceful shoulders in 
disapproval. Though she appeared to treat the 
matter lightly, there was an angry sparkle in her 


8o 


JANE ALLEN 


brown eyes. She found that she was far from 
being pleased with this abrupt newcomer, whose 
remarks verged continually on rudeness. She 
had greeted Jane with smiles. She now wished 
she had been less friendly. 

“Edith doesn’t truly mean that,” laughed 
Dorothy, with a view to palliating her friend’s 
outspoken snobbishness. 

“Of course I mean it.” Edith frowned dark- 
ly, her vivacious prettiness disappearing like 
magic. “Sorry I must leave you, but I promised 
a freshman I met yesterday to show her about 
the campus. There she goes now. Excuse me, 
please.” She slipped from her chair and hurried 
toward the dining room door. 

Jane’s eyes followed her to see her accost 
Marian Seaton, who was just disappearing 
through the doorway. She smiled grimly as she 
saw Marian stop and greet Edith with beaming 
approbation. “Birds of a feather,” was her men- 
tal judgment. The memory of Beatrice Horton 
rose before her. So she had come to life after 
all, and on Jane’s second day at Wellington. It 
looked, too, as though she needed friends. Very 
well; she should have at least another firm advo- 
cate besides Dorothy Martin. 

“Edith is a perfect dear.” Jane came back to 


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8i 


her surroundings as Dorothy offered this apology 
in behalf of her pettish companion. “It’s all the 
fault of her bringing up. Her father is a million- 
aire and she comes of a very old Philadelphia 
family. She is an only child, and has always been 
allowed to do exactly as she pleased. I’m awfully 
fond of her, but I wish she weren’t quite so — 

so ” she hesitated, “peculiar about some 

things.” 

“I understand,” was Jane’s brief response. It 
was on her tongue to remark that in Marian 
Seaton, Edith would undoubtedly find a ready 
sympathizer. She refrained from saying so, how- 
ever. She was determined on at least one point. 
No matter what might be her opinions of the girls 
with whom her lot had been cast, she would keep 
them to herself. 


CHAPTER IX 


FRIENDS AND FOES 

D uring the next two days Jane found 
herself so completely engaged in the 
ordeal of examinations as to devote very 
little time to the girls of Madison Hall. Her 
natural reticence prevented her from falling into 
the quick acquaintance which is bound to spring 
up whenever a number of young women are 
thrown together to remain in one another’s com- 
pany for a long period of time. Discouraged by 
the icy demeanor Judith Sterns had presented 
when they found themselves alone together in 
their room at the end of the first trying day of 
examinations, Jane had put off the apology she 
still wished to make. At the end of the second 
day she grew angry at Judith’s stony ignoring 
of her presence and no longer desired to make it. 
So far as she was concerned, matters could stand 
82 


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83 


as they were. Judith sat at the same table with 
Marian Seaton. No doubt Marian had enlight- 
ened her regarding her brief acquaintance with 
Jane. It was equally probable that she had ex- 
aggerated the account. Jane was not troubled 
by Marian’s opinion of her, but she was still 
slightly remorseful for her cavalier treatment of 
Judith. 

Aside from Dorothy Martin, Edith Hammond 
and the meek waitress student, whose name was 
Norma Bennett, she knew no one sufficiently well 
to be on more than bowing terms. Having been 
without girl friends all her life, she was now not 
specially lonely. She was as yet too little used 
to her new environment to begin longing for the 
companionship of these Eastern girls, whom she 
secretly scorned. To pass her examinations was 
a matter of pride with her. Once she had set her 
foot forward she could not brook failure. For 
the sake of the adored dead and the faith of the 
living, she must not fail. And so the end of her 
first week at Wellington College found her estab- 
lished among the freshmen pioneers. 

The term “pioneer” pleased Jane immensely. 
She frequently recalled Dorothy’s comparison 
and delighted to think of herself as one who had 
settled in a new land, determined to win her way 


84 


JANE ALLEN 


against overwhelming difficulties. It was a most 
comforting make-believe, and she derived a con- 
siderable amount of satisfaction from it. It had 
been her aunt’s wish that she confine herself to 
the classical course, and the novelty of selecting 
the various subjects for study and beginning the 
regular routine of recitation kept her busily oc- 
cupied. So far as her studies were concerned she 
was genuinely interested. Her thorough train- 
ing under Miss Evans, coupled with her alert 
mind and power of concentration, combined to 
make her a student who might be depended upon 
for brilliant recitations. 

It was not until Sunday that for the first time 
since her arrival Jane experienced a decided de- 
sire for companionship. At El Capitan, Sunday 
had always been a day of infinite happiness. Ac- 
companied by her father and aunt, she usually 
attended the morning service at a church some 
miles from the ranch. In the afternoon she and 
her father were in the habit of taking long horse- 
back rides together, eating an al fresco supper, 
which they took with them, and riding home un- 
der the stars. 

During the service in the chapel that morning, 
which she had attended in company with Dorothy 
Martin, Jane’s thoughts had traveled persistently 


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85 


Westward. The singing of the hymns filled her 
with wistful longing for her lost home. Wrapped 
in her own dreams, the religious discourse fell as 
far-off sounds on her unheeding ears. The mo- 
ment dinner was over she put into execution a 
plan which had been in her mind since early 
morning. The beauty of the day invited a ride 
on Firefly, who had arrived safely and who was 
comfortably established in a stable not far from 
the college. Jane hurried to her room and hastily 
slipping out of the embroidered pongee frock she 
had donned in honor of the day, dived into one 
of her trunks and brought forth her riding 
clothes. 

Half an hour afterward a decorous group of 
girls who were taking their ease on the veranda 
of Madison Hall were distinctly astonished to see 
a russet-haired young woman in ultra-modern 
riding habit, crop in hand, march past them, down 
the walk and across the campus. Sufficient unto 
herself, Jane had no notion of the profound sen- 
sation she was destined to make, and went on her 
way, mercifully unconscious of the buzz of com- 
ment she had left behind her. 

‘‘Well, of all things!” burst forth Edith Ham- 
mond, as she viewed Jane’s serenely retreating 
back. 


86 


JANE ALLEN 


“The great American cow-girl,” giggled Alicia 
Reynolds maliciously, waving a thin hand in 
Jane’s direction. 

“I can’t endure that hateful Allen girl,” 
snapped Marian Seaton. “If I had known that 
she intended coming to Madison Hall, I would 
have tried to get into another campus house. I 
met her on the train, you know. I lost my hand- 
kerchief and she saw me drop it and brought it 
to me. She tried awfully hard to be friendly 
after that, but Mamma didn’t like her, so we 
paid no attention to her. We hadn’t the least 
idea she was coming here until we bumped 
squarely into her at the station. We rode to the 
Hall in the same taxicab and she was very rude 
to us. You remember, don’t you, girls?” She 
turned to Alicia and Maizie Gilbert, who nodded 
confirmation. 

“She sits at our table,” remarked Edith, “but 
I can’t say that I like her. She makes a great 
deal of fuss over that Miss Bennett who waits 
on us. She only does it to keep on the sunny side 
of Dorothy. You girls weren’t here last year, 
so I’ll have to explain what I mean. Dot is a 
dear, but she’s always taking up with these 
frumpy persons who are trying to go through col- 
lege on nothing. She feels sorry for them and 


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87 


wants to drag them into having good times, re- 
gardless of the fact that they are totally un- 
suited to our standard. She is awfully nice to 
this Bennett girl, who comes from goodness 
knows where and hasn’t a cent to call her own. 
Last year Dot took her to the freshman dance, 
and I wish you might have seen the dress she 
wore. It was about five years behind the times 
and couldn’t have cost more than four or five dol- 
lars at the most. Dorothy is ” 

“Well, what is Dorothy?” demanded a laugh- 
ing voice. Dorothy Martin had stepped out 
onto the veranda just in time to hear Edith speak 
her name. 

Edith turned pink to the tips of her small ears. 
“Oh, hello. Dot,” she greeted. Casting a side- 
long glance of warning toward the others, she 
said, “We were just speaking of that Miss Allen. 
Did you see her?” 

“Not since dinner.” Dorothy shook her head, 
her gray eyes fixed with grave regard upon 
Edith’s flushed face. She was fully aware that 
Edith had purposely evaded her question. 

Alicia Reynolds’ disagreeable giggle broke 
forth anew. “Wait until Mrs. Weatherbee sees 
her,” she prophesied pertly. 

“What do you mean, girls?” Dorothy seated 


88 


JANE ALLEN 


herself on the top step of the veranda and looked 
interrogatively toward the group above her. 

“She marched out of her about ten minutes 
ago dressed in a riding habit. It wasn’t one of 
the long-skirted, old-fashioned kind, either. It 
consisted of high boots, riding breeches and a 
coat. She looked like a movie actress ! And on 
Sunday, too!” Edith tilted her chin in active 
scorn at Jane’s misdemeanor. “You know how 
strict Mrs. Weatherbee is about Sunday.” 

Instead of being shocked at this revelation, 
Dorothy’s musical laugh rang out. “I think that 
is really funny!” she exclaimed. “It’s worthy of 
the freshman grind book. Poor Jane! She 
hadn’t the least idea that she was doing anything 
out of the ordinary.” 

“I fail to see anything funny about it,” cut in 
Marian Seaton acridly. “She must have known 
that no one who has the slightest respect for 
Sunday or Mrs. Weatherbee’s good opinion 
would think of going horseback riding to-day. 
I’m only a freshman, but I can respect traditions, 
at least. But of course, being brought up in the 
wild and woolly West, she is probably ignorant 
of a great deal she ought to know.” 

“I am quite sure that Miss Allen had no idea 
of proceeding contrary to Mrs. Weatherbee’s 


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89 


wishes,” returned Dorothy quietly. Her even 
tones hinted of rebuke. 

“I don’t believe she knew,” broke in Judith 
Stearns, who had hitherto taken no part in the 
conversation. Honest to the core, Judith re- 
sented Marian’s arraignment of Jane. Her own 
private differences were for the moment forgot- 
ten. “Miss Allen had a little disagreement with 
Mrs. Weatherbee about her room on her first day 
here. Since then I imagine she hasn’t been 
haunting Mrs. Weatherbee’s office to inquire into 
her likes and dislikes.” 

“Disagreements seem to be her specialty,” 
drawled Maizie Gilbert. “So far as I can learn 
she has been on the outs with everyone since she 
came. That is, everyone she knows. Her royal 
highness hasn’t deigned to trouble herself to get 
acquainted.” 

“Oh, she is a friend of Miss Bennett’s,” snick- 
ered Alicia with spiteful mirth. 

“She is my friend, too,” announced Dorothy 
gravely. She rose as she made this statement. 
“I don’t wish to be critical, but I think it is 
hardly fair in any one of you to speak so slight- 
ingly of a person you hardly know. Jane Allen 
may have peculiar sides to her nature which as 
yet none of us can possibly understand. Until 


90 


JANE ALLEN 


we do know more of her it is not right to criti- 
cize. Speaking of traditions, one of Wellington’s 
finest is ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged.’ Per- 
sonally, I like her very much. Some day I think 
you will find yourselves in a position to agree 
with me.” Without further words, Dorothy 
walked across the veranda and disappeared into 
the house. 

“I suppose as humble freshmen we should con- 
sider ourselves properly rebuked,” sneered Maizie 
Gilbert. 

^'You may, if you choose,” flung back Marian 
Seaton derisively. “All the upper class students 
of Wellington can’t make me alter my opinion. 
I detest that Miss Allen and I am perfectly 
frank in admitting it. I’m surprised at your 
standing up for her, Judith, after the way she 
has treated you.” 

It was Judith’s turn to color. In the heat of 
her resentment against Jane, she had rashly con- 
fided her woes to Marian, whom she had sworn 
to secrecy. Marian’s deliberate betrayal of her 
confidence made her very angry. 

“Tell us about it, Judy,” begged Alicia Reyn- 
olds, in gleeful anticipation of more gossip. She 
was not keen enough to note Judith’s plainly 
ruffled feathers. Of the type who rush into in- 


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91 


timacy in a day, she had already shortened 
Judith’s name. Now she entreated her with con- 
fident familiarity. 

“I have nothing to tell,” Judith spoke with cold 
finality. “What I said to Miss Seaton was in 
strict confidence. I am sorry now that I said it. 
However, it will teach me to keep my personal 
affairs to myself in future.” Flashing angry re- 
proach at Marian, Judith rose from her chair and 
marched into the house, her head very erect. 

“Miss Allen’s influence seems to be extending 
itself to her roommate,” commented Edith Ham- 
mond dryly. “What did Miss Stearns tell you, 
Marian? Having proved yourself a faithless 
confidante, you might as well live up to your 
crime.” 

Edith’s flippant words lashed the already 
nettled Marian to further irritation. Judith’s 
exposure of her breach of confidence was de- 
cidedly humiliating to her. No girl likes to be 
reminded publicly that she cannot keep a secret. 
She was too shrewd not to know that were she to 
acquire a reputation for indiscriminate talking 
she would never be able to live it down. 

“Judith Stearns had no reason to accuse me of 
breaking my word,” she declared resentfully. “I 
merely reminded her that this Allen person had 


92 


JANE ALLEN 


been hateful to her. I had no intention of saying 
anything further than that about it.” 

“That means you won’t tell us,” smiled Edith, 
faint scorn flickering in her eyes. 

“Certainly not.” Marian assumed an air of 
virtuous dignity. “I hope I am not quite so 
treacherous as all that.” 

“Noble little Marian,” praised Maizie Gilbert. 
“Of course we know you wouldn’t break your 
word. Let’s drop the subject for something 
more pleasant.” 

Marian cast a sharp glance at Maizie. Her 
imperturbable features seemed to indicate her 
good faith in the former. Maizie was merely 
biding her time, however. As Marian’s room- 
mate and friend of long standing, she had few 
illusions regarding her. She knew that, once in 
the privacy of their room, she, at least, was cer- 
tain to learn every word that Judith had said. 

“I’m sure Td rather talk about something 
else,” Marian said half sullenly. “Suppose we 
four take a walk around the campus. There 
doesn’t appear to be anything more exciting to 
do. I hate Sunday — when one has to spend it 
like this.” 

“I’ll take you over to Preston House and in- 
troduce you to the crowd there,” volunteered 


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93 


Edith. “Two of my intimate friends, juniors, 
room on the second floor. They have a piano and 
always entertain on Sunday afternoons.” 

“That will be flne,” glowed Marian. “I am 
anxious to make friends among the upper class 
girls. Most of the freshmen IVe met so far are 
anything but interesting. I’ll be glad when I’m 
a sophomore.” 

“So will I,” echoed Alicia Reynolds eagerly. 
She made it a point always to agree with Marian. 
She had a wholesome respect for the latter’s pre- 
tensions. 

The four girls left the veranda to stroll arm in 
arm across the broad green campus. In the mat- 
ter of ideas, they were well matched. Meeting 
on the level of pure snobbery, they, as well as 
proud, misjudged Jane Allen, were fated to learn 
during their fours years at Wellington a num- 
ber of things which did not appear in the curricu- 
lum of study of that college. 


CHAPTER X 


THE LETTEE THAT WAS NOT MAILED 

B ut while the group on the veranda were 
airing their opinions of her, Jane was 
enjoying the first taste of happiness that 
had been hers since her arrival at Wellington. 
Allowed unlimited liberty at home, it had not 
occurred to her that, in following the dictates of 
her own will, she was outraging Sunday pro- 
priety. At El Capitan she had worshipped God 
in the open. Her reverence for sacred things in- 
variably deepened with each long Sunday ride 
that she and her father took together. To won- 
der at and to worship the grandeur of Nature 
was to be in tune with the Infinite. Her loftiest 
emotions and highest aspirations had been born 
of the earnest talks she and her father had en- 
gaged in, as they rode side by side, perfect com- 
rades of the trail. 


94 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


95 


Her impulse to mount Firefly and flee, for a 
brief time, from the unpleasantness of her sur- 
roundings had prompted her to go for a ride that 
Sunday afternoon. Once out in the beautiful 
stretch of country beyond Chest erf or d, she would 
have space to breathe and opportunity to think 
and grow strong of spirit. 

Firefly’s delight at the touch of her soft hand 
on his nervous head was only equalled by her joy 
in having him to herself again. Weary of his 
dull stable quarters, he behaved like a frisky 
young puppy let out to gambol on the grass for 
the first time. His little feet fairly flew over the 
dusty country road, and Jane swept along, in- 
toxicated with the joy of living which for a long, 
doleful week had been denied her. How many 
miles she rode, she did not know, neither did she 
care. An expert trail-maker, it was easy for her 
to keep track of her course, and she knew that 
when she decided to turn back she would have 
no difficulty in making the return to the college. 

Reaching a bit of woods where a narrow road 
wound its way in and out among the trees, she 
explored it for a short distance. The sound of 
gurgling water urged her onward and at the 
edge of a shallow brook that chattered musically 
along its stony course, she dismounted and al- 


96 


JANE ALLEN 


lowed Firefly to refresh himself with a long drink 
of the clear, sparkling water. He waded to the 
middle of it and, tossing his head, neighed an 
invitation for her to follow him. 

“Can’t do it, old dear,” laughed Jane. “My 
wading days are over until next summer. That’s 
a long way off, and you and I will have to be 
patient until then. We came to college to live 
and learn, and we’re learning altogether too fast 
for comfort,” she added a trifle bitterly. “The 
best we can do is to console each other and see 
things through. As long as I have you, I don’t 
care much about the others.” 

Jane said this very bravely, but immediately her 
face fell. Out there in the stillness, broken only 
by the complaining brook, she realized that she 
had not spoken truthfully. For some unknown 
reason she had begun to care very much. But 
why? was her silent question. The companion- 
ship of girls of her own age had never before 
seemed necessary to her scheme of life. N ow that 
she was among them she did not like them, and 
they did not like her. Jane paused to consider 
this last thought. It did not ring true, for there 
were now two persons whom she decided that she 
liked very well. One was Norma Bennett; the 
other, Dorothy Martin. She experienced a swift 


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97 


warm rush of fellowship for Dorothy. What a 
splendid girl she was ! And how kind and com- 
forting she had been to the lonely outlander, her- 
self. And there in the silent wild Jane developed 
her first “crush,’’ which was eventually to change 
her entire point of view. 

It was well toward sunset when she rode into 
the stable yard, and after seeing Firefly safely 
to his limited quarters, walked slowly back to 
Madison Hall. She glanced indifferently toward 
the deserted veranda as she strolled up the walk 
to the steps. Once inside the hall, sounds from 
the dining room proclaimed the fact that the Sun- 
day night supper was on. Hungry by reason of 
her ride, Jane hastened up the stairs to change 
her riding clothes for the pongee gown, and de- 
scend presently to her supper. 

“Jfm Allen r A stern voice, freighted with 
disapproval, caused Jane to wheel about when 
half-way down the hall. The voice belonged to 
Mrs. Weatherbee. In her black satin gown, her 
placid face a study in outraged dignity, she ap- 
peared to the astonished Jane to tower above her 
like an avenging deity. 

“You wished to speak to me?” Jane inquired, 
without moving from where she had halted. She 
wondered vaguely as to what was impending, but 


98 


JANE ALLEN 


she controlled her face to show no sign of curi- 
osity. It would take more than this exhibition 
of displeasure on the part of the matron to intimi- 
date her, 

“Have you forgotten that to-day is Sunday?'^ 
Mrs. Weatherbee’s tones indicated that a sacri- 
lege had been committed. 

“Certainly not.” Jane elevated her chin and 
gazed levelly at her questioner. “It would be 
hard to forget.” 

“Nevertheless your memory seems to be treach- 
erous,” retorted the older woman. “I can hardly 
credit the fact that one of my girls should have 
deliberately ignored the day to go horseback 
riding.” 

Jane’s gray eyes widened in genuine amaze- 
ment. So this was what it all meant. “I was 
not aware that it was forbidden,” she returned, 
striving to control the temper which threatened 
to rise at this unlooked-for rebuke. “At home, 
my father and I always ride on Sunday.” 

“But you are not at home,” reminded Mrs. 
Weatherbee, her stern features relaxing a little. 
She found herself confronting a situation on 
which she had not reckoned. Just to a degree, 
she could now hardly doubt the innocence of 
Jane’s motive. The girl had not intended dis- 


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99 


obedience. She was simply ignorant of the con- 
ventions. “It is quite proper that you should 
ride, my dear, if you wish,” she explained in a 
milder tone, “but not on Sunday. At Welling- 
ton ” 

“Is it forbidden in the rules of the college?” 
was Jane’s curt interruption. 

“Not in the rules of the college, but ” 

“Then I see no reason why I should not ride 
my horse on Sunday if I choose,” cut in Jane 
laconically. 

Sheer vexation prevented Mrs. Weatherbee 
from answering. Never, during her long experi- 
ence with girls, had she encountered one who so 
aggravated her. The indifferent contempt with 
which Jane met her well-meant admonition 
aroused in her a feeling of animosity quite for- 
eign to her usual serenity. Confident of her 
power to compel obedience by the merest show 
of displeasure, it irritated her beyond measure to 
be thus coolly defied. 

“Have you no regard for my wishes?” she 
asked, her tones quivering with exasperation. 

“Every regard, if they are reasonable.” Jane 
was privately astonished at her own reply. “I 
cannot understand, however, why you should ob- 
ject to a perfectly harmless recreation,” she went 


100 


JANE ALLEN 


on boldly. “My father says that it is the spirit 
in which one does things that counts. I went rid- 
ing to-day on purpose to get away from this 
stupid, narrow life of the East, where I am hardly 
allowed to breathe. For certain reasons I must 
learn to endure it, but no one can hope to teach 
me reason by forbidding me to do what harms 
neither myself nor anyone else. Oh, I hate it 
all!” Jane accompanied her vehement exclama- 
tion with a gesture of loathing that patently in- 
cluded the woman who had presumed to inter- 
fere, and turning ran down the hall into her 
room, slamming the door behind her. 

Mrs. Weatherbee’s first impulse was to pursue 
her and, demanding admittance to her room, lay 
down the law with unsparing severity. She did 
not yield to it. Instead she proceeded in the 
opposite direction. It came to her with disagree- 
able force that were she to put the matter before 
the dean, she might meet with defeat. Miss Rut- 
ledge was a Californian, with the distinct atmos- 
phere of the West about her. She would per- 
haps treat the affair lightly. Mrs. Weatherbee 
herself was a New England woman of the old 
school. She had little sympathy with the out- 
door sports which the girl of to-day finds so neces- 
sary to her happiness. Jane’s mannish riding 


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clothes had shocked her far more than the girl’s 
disregard for the Sabbath. She prudently de- 
cided to think well before taking further steps 
toward managing the recalcitrant Jane. But 
her active disapproval of the latter now deepened 
into a rooted dislike which later she took small 
pains to conceal. 

J ane burst into her room to encounter Judith 
Sterns in the act of leaving it. The two girls 
collided with a force that sent Judith reeling 
backward. 

‘T beg your pardon. I hope I did not hurt 
you,” Jane made frowning apology. She was 
not in the least out of sorts with Judith. Her 
lowering brows were the result of her recent in- 
terview with Mrs. Weatherbee. 

But again Fate appeared to connive to keep 
the two apart. Judith translated Jane’s frown 
as pertaining solely to her. When she had an- 
grily left the veranda, she had resolved to make 
a speedy peace with Jane. The unkind criticism 
of Marian and her friends had served to disgust 
her with them. Dorothy’s defense of Jane had 
sunk deep. If Dorothy found Jane likeable, 
she, too, would try to know her better. After 
all, she could not blame Jane for being provoked 
over her room. Perhaps Jane had not seen her 


102 


JANE ALLEN 


that first day on the campus. Judith recalled 
guiltily that Jane had bowed to her when she 
entered Rutherford Inn, and had been rebuffed. 
Several times the latter had seemed to be on the 
point of making friendly overtures. And she, 
Judith, had pretended not to see them. 

Noting Jane’s absence at supper, Judith had 
hurried through the meal and to her room. When 
her roommate returned she would apologize to 
her for ignoring her salutation that day. Per- 
haps they might come to a frank understanding 
that would serve to draw them together. That 
would be Dorothy’s way of adjusting the diffi- 
culty. Judith had also become devoted to the 
pretty junior. 

Jane’s violent entrance, coupled with her curt 
apology and frowning face, completely! upset 
Judith’s plan of tender reconciliation. With 
a freezing, ‘T am not hurt, thank you,” she 
switched from the room, with the conviction that 
Marian could hardly be blamed for disliking this 
rude Westerner, and that Dorothy would un- 
doubtedly discover in time that her idol was made 
of very common clay. 

As for Jane, the moment the door closed be- 
hind Judith, her belligerence fell from her like a 
cloak. Dropping down on a little stool, she drew 


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103 


off one riding boot, stared savagely at it and 
hurled it across the room. It just missed sailing 
through the open window, struck the casing with 
a thud and landed on the floor beside it. In her 
misery, Jane laughed rather hysterically. The 
laugh ended in a sob. Throwing herself face 
downward on the floor, sTie cried as though her 
stubborn heart would break. 

Fortunately for her, Judith did not return. 
Finally quieting her grief, she picked herself up 
and began a spiritless removal of the other boot. 
Surveying it dully, she went on undressing. Her 
desire for supper had vanished. Arraying her- 
self in a soft blue silk neglige, she began a search 
for her fountain pen and note paper. Seating 
herself at the table which served the purpose of 
a desk, she wrote; 

“Daddy Dear: 

“I can’t stand it. Please let me come 
home. If you only knew how horrible 
everything here is, you’d fly to rescue me 
from this miserable place. I’ve tried, but 
everything goes wrong. No one under- 
stands me and no one cares to. I know that 
if Dearest were alive she would say ” 


104 


JANE ALLEN 


Jane paused abruptly, her pen poised above 
the paper. What if somewhere in the Infinite 
her mother saw and knew. If so, what then must 
be her thoughts? Surely she would not blame 
her own little girl for all that had happened. 

And yet Had she honestly tried to do her 

very best? Dorothy Martin’s earnest speech, 
“That rests entirely with you,” rang in her ears. 
What was it she had said about being brave and 
resourceful? Word for word she recalled that 
one sentence: “Of course she is bound to meet 
with plenty of obstacles, big and little, but if she 
makes up her mind to remove them, she is sure 
to do it.” 

With an impetuous sweep of her hand, Jane 
whisked the sheet of paper from the table. Tear- 
ing it across, she tossed it into the near-by waste- 
basket. Seizing her pen, she began on a fresh 
sheet: 

“Dearest Dad: 

“Here is a good-night message to you 
from a verdant freshman. 

“I went for a long ride on Firefiy to-day 
and all the time I wished you were with me. 

I am trying to like college, and I suppose I 
shall be really in love with it about the time 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


105 

I graduate. At any rate, I’m living and 
learning as you said I must. There is a 
splendid girl here named Dorothy Martin. 
She looks a little like Dearest, and she has 
been very sweet to me. Dad, I wish you 
would send me the portrait of Mother that 
hangs in my room. I need it to help me be 
a pioneer. Dorothy says freshmen are 
pioneers and that it rests with them whether 
they can be good settlers in the new country 
of college. Some time I hope to bring her 
home with me to dear old Capitan. 

“Firefly is in fine condition, only he hates 
to be shut up in a stable. I shall take him 
out for an airing as often as I can. Give 
my love to Aunt Mary and tell her I’ll write 
soon. Give Donabar a pat and an apple for 
me. With my dearest love to you, 

“Your fighting pioneer, 

“Jane.” 

As Jane folded her letter and slipped it into 
the envelope, a curious peace descended upon 
her. She had not given up, after all. How much 
more pleased her father would be at this second 
letter, that contained no hint of defeat. Rising 
from the table, she walked to the window and 


io6 


JANE ALLEN 


looked out on the calm starlit night. As she 
lingered, dreamily wondering what the future 
held in store for her, she saw a taxicab roll up 
the drive. A girl skipped nimbly out of it be- 
fore it came to a full stop. In the moonlight 
Jane could see her quite plainly. She was small 
and slender and dark, and moved with incredible 
lightness. She turned a lovely impish face 
directly toward Jane, as she proceeded up the 
walk, followed by a luggage-laden chauffeur. As 
Jane had held small communication with the ma- 
jority of the Madison Hall girls, she had no idea 
as to whom the newcomer might be. But in the 
brief glimpse Jane caught of her she realized that 
this elfish little person was totally different from 
any girl she had seen thus far. It was as though 
she had slipped suddenly from a stray moonbeam 
and landed in front of Madison Hall, rather than 
descended from a prosaic taxicab. “She looks dif- 
ferent,” was Jane’s thought. “I hope she won’t 
be like the others.” She watched her in fascina- 
tion until she disappeared from view. Then she 
turned from the window, little dreaming that the 
attractive stranger was one day to fill a very 
large place in her college life. 


CHAPTER XI 


A PLEDGj: OF FRIENDSHIP 

A lthough Jane had fought another 
battle with self and come out victor, she 
was imbued with anything but the spirit 
of a conqueror as she took her place at breakfast 
the following morning. Thus far there had been 
a vacant chair at the table which she shared with 
Dorothy Martin and Edith Hammond. She had 
observed that all the other tables in the room 
seated from four to six girls. Several times she 
had wondered if Madison Hall were not yet full 
to capacity and if the vacant place were destined 
to hold some late arrival. She had asked no 
questions, however, even of Dorothy. Trained 
to use her own eyes to the best advantage, Jane 
scorned to resort to interrogation in order to 
satisfy her curiosity regarding the members of 
the household of the Hall. Of an impersonal 
107 


io8 


JANE ALLEN 


nature, she resented being questioned; therefore 
she took good care not to inflict her queries upon 
anyone else. Whatever she could not find out 
for herself about people she preferred to let 
go. 

Then, too, she had vowed never to give Edith 
Hammond the satisfaction of learning that she 
was in the least interested in what went on at 
Wellington. During the brief time in which the 
three were thrown together at meals, she ad- 
dressed her remarks principally to Dorothy. She 
did not like Edith, and Edith had evinced small 
fondness for her. Although Edith showed evi- 
dent preference for Dorothy, she and Marian 
Seaton had lately become very friendly, and she 
was frequently to be seen in the latter’s company. 
Whole-souled Dorothy tried, in her earnest, 
kindly fashion, to bridge the rapidly yawning 
gap between her table companions, but it proved 
an uphill task. They found plenty to say to her, 
but little or nothing to say to each other. 

J ane was distinctly relieved as she slipped into 
her chair to find herself alone at table. For once 
she had a question to ask, but it was for Norma 
Bennett’s ears. As the latter came smilingly up 
to her with a pleasant, “Good morning,” Jane 
began in her abrupt fashion: “Who is the girl 


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109 


who arrived last night after supper? I saw her 
from my window. I thought you might know 
about her.’’ 

“Oh, yes. I do know. Her name is Adrienne 
Dupree. She is rooming with Miss Lacey, and 
she will be placed at your table when she comes 
down to breakfast. I haven’t seen her yet, but I 
knew she was expected last night. What does 
she look like. Miss Allen?” Norma had never 
presumed to address Jane other than formally. 
Poverty had taught her that, for herself, reserve 
was always wisest. 

“I caught only a glimpse of her. She is very 
small and pretty. She looked like a sprite in the 
moonlight last night.” Jane was unaware of the 
enthusiasm in her voice. 

Norma noticed it, however, and mentally hoped 
that this newcomer would be nice to Jane. This 
proud, reserved girl seemed so alone. No one 
except herself and Dorothy Martin appeared in- 
terested in her. She was rich. She wore beauti- 
ful clothes and carried herself like a young prin- 
cess. Yet Norma’s cogitations came to a 

sudden end. Edith Hammond was approaching 
the table. “I must go,” she murmured, and 
walked quickly away. 

“Good morning,” Edith greeted Jane coldly. 


no 


JANE ALLEN 


“Good morning.” Jane’s salutation held an 
equal amount of ice. 

Neither made any attempt at conversation. 
Norma served the breakfast and they proceeded 
to eat in silence. 

“Oh, good morning, Jane.” Dorothy Martin 
put in a breezy appearance. “Did you enjoy 
your ride yesterday?” Her gray eyes twinkled. 

Jane looked up with a frown. It changed to a 
sudden smile as she read genuine amusement in 
Dorothy’s eyes. “Very much, thank you,” she 
returned demurely. Then they both laughed 
outright. Although Dorothy did not know of the 
scene with Mrs. Weatherbee, she guessed that the 
news of Jane’s ride had not escaped that worthy 
woman's ears. 

“Do you ride?” asked Jane suddenly. 

“No; I wish I knew how. It’s splendid exer- 
cise. You’ll laugh, I suppose, but I’m rather 
afraid of horses. Father would like me to have a 
horse.” 

“Let me teach you to ride,” Jane offered eag- 
erly. “You can learn on Firefly. He’s as gentle 
as can be. I have two habits here, and you are 
about my height. Either of them would fit you.” 

“Oh, will you teach me?^’ It was Dorothy’s 
turn to grow eager. “When can we begin?” 


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III 


The two girls fell into an energetic discussion 
of Jane’s proposal. The fact that Dorothy was 
anxious to become her pupil was of sufficient in- 
terest to cause Jane to forget the presence of a 
third person. 

Edith Hammond’s changeful face wore an ex- 
pression of patent chagrin as the talk went on. 
She did not wish Dorothy and Jane to become 
friends. Dorothy was by far the most popular 
girl in the junior class, and Edith felt that she 
had a special claim on the pretty junior’s atten- 
tion. It was all very well for Dorothy to make 
it pleasant for the freshmen, but it was not neces- 
sary for her to become chummy with any of them, 
particularly this detestable Allen girl. She 
hoped Dorothy would not invite her to the fresh- 
man dance. It looked as though Jane was exert- 
ing herself to be agreeable with that end in view. 
The coming dance being just now an important 
topic of conversation, she knew no doubt that 
owing to the fact that 19 — was the largest fresh- 
man class for some years, the seniors and juniors 
had agreed to help out as escorts. Aside from 
Norma Bennett, who didn’t count socially, Doro- 
thy was Jane’s only hope in the way of an escort. 

Edith’s sulky reflections took wing as her eyes 
wandered to the entrance to the dining room. A 


II2 


JANE ALLEN 


mite of a girl had paused on the threshold. Not 
more than five feet in height and boyishly slen- 
der, her small head running over with short, blue- 
black curls, she looked like a child masquerading 
in young women’s clothes. Her large black eyes 
sparkled with mischievous interest, as they darted 
here and there. Her clear, white skin, small 
straight nose and the vivid coloring of her curved 
red lips combined to make a face of unusual 
beauty. Her smart little one-piece frock of 
white pongee reached just to the tops of her tiny 
white kid shoes. As she stood in the doorway 
she made a charming picture. 

“Look, Dorothy !” Edith was glad of a chance 
to interrupt the conversation of her companions. 
“There’s Miss Dupree. I saw her last night 
when she first came. Isn’t she a darling?” 

Jane’s glance followed Dorothy’s in the direc- 
tion of the door, just in time to see Norma Ben- 
nett approach the stranger and lead her toward 
their table. Mrs. Weatherbee, who rarely break- 
fasted with her household, had directed Norma 
to look after the newcomer and introduce her to 
her tablemates. From Jane and Dorothy, Norma 
knew she might expect courtesy, but Edith Ham- 
mond might misunderstand her effort to carry 
out instructions as an attempt to overstep the 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


111 

line of caste she had drawn so sharply between 
herself and one who was obliged to work her way 
through college. 

“Miss Dupree, this is Miss Martin,” she began 
a trifle nervously. She then named the other two 
young women, and with a timid, “Mrs. Weather- 
bee asked me to introduce Miss Dupree,” walked 
quickly away without looking back to see how 
Edith had regarded her temerity. 

“We have been wondering what you would be 
like,” was Dorothy’s opening speech. “You fill 
the last empty niche in Madison Hall. We are 
now a complete household.” 

“I have the bad habit of being always last when 
I ought to be first,” shrugged the fascinating 
little girl. “Since first ma mere said, ‘Adrienne 
must go to college,’ ah! how I ruined my voice 
explaining that for me the student life was too 
sad. But ma mere had the original ideas of her 
own. So — I am here.” She made a gesture of 
deprecation that was as purely French as her 
name. 

A gleam of interest shot into Jane’s eyes at 
this naive confession. Here was some one else 
who didn’t like college. 

“I wept. I shrieked. I raved. I implored,” 
went on Miss Dupree dramatically. “Poor old 


JANE ALLEN 


lit 

Blacky made the great fuss, too. Blacky is of a 
truth my governess and for many years. She 
wept also many tears. There were such sad 
partings! You may believe it.” She rolled her 
black eyes as though to express the precise degree 
of sorrow of her governess. “So far, I have seen 
nothing of an excitement here, but the worst is 
yet to come.” She cast an impish glance about 
the table that brought ready smiles from her 
listeners. 

“Oh, you only imagine you are not going to 
like college,” Dorothy assured her. “We have 
the best kind of times here.” Dorothy did not 
adopt the serious tone which she had used to com- 
fort Jane. This elfish young person required a 
different method of treatment. 

“Do you really?” The black eyes opened very 
wide. “If it is so, then I shall play around awhile 
in this huge college and see what happens.” 

“You are from New York City, are you not?” 
inquired Edith with polite interest. Judging 
from appearance, Adrienne Dupree was a spoiled 
darling of luxury. 

“Indeed I am,” came the quick response. 
“There is no place in the world like it! It is a 
great pleasure to see the dear old town after one 
has traveled about the big world for a long time. 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


115 


It makes happiness.” Unconsciously she had 
dropped into an idiom purely of the French. 

‘‘Have you traveled much?” Edith questioned 
curiously. 

“Almost all my life. You cannot be of the 
profession and sit by your own fireside, you know. 
But of course you do not know. That is, you 
know nothing of me. I had better begin; then I 
shall enlighten you. You may be shocked. I 
cannot be sad if you are. Frankness is the soul 
of virtue, though. Is it not?” She did not wait 
for an affirmative, but rattled on. “My mother is 
Eloise Dupree. Now do you understand?” 

“I do,” nodded Jane, her somber face lighting 
to actual beauty. “I saw her dance last winter 
in Denver. She is wonderful.” J ane’s voice held 
a note of awed admiration. 

“Then you must have seen me. I was one of 
the poppies in ‘Midsummer’ and a fairy in the 
‘Princess of Illusion.’ That is why I am so cross 
because I must go to school. I wish to keep on 
dancing and become famous like ma mere. But 
no, little Adrienne must go to college. Hard 
indeed for little Adrienne.” 

“I’ve heard and read a great deal of Eloise 
Dupree,” said Dorothy warmly. “She is world 
famous as an artiste, I believe. Her interpreta- 


ii6 


JANE ALLEN 


tions are marvelous. And to think that her 
daughter is to have Wellington for her Alma 
Mater ! It’s the most interesting thing I’ve heard 
since I came back to college.” Dorothy beamed 
her enthusiasm. 

“You are too sweet for anything.” The little 
girl flushed with genuine pride at this praise of 
her mother. “There are many stupid persons 
who have not the understanding of the profes- 
sion. They seem to think it a — a — disgrace to 
use the talents God gave one in order to give 
pleasure to others/’ she went on quickly. “Not 
that I would care the least little bit if any of the 
girls here were to be horrid to me, because, like 
ma mere, I have danced. It is an honor. I am 
very proud of it.” 

“Why shouldn’t you be proud of it?” de- 
manded Jane. “You ought to be glad that you 
are different from ordinary, everyday persons.” 

“Now you speak the truth,” encouraged the 
mite. “I am glad. I will tell you a great secret. 
I have never cared for the girls of my own age. 
I have been always with my parents. Mon pere 
is the business manager, you know.” 

“I never cared for girls, either,” confessed 
Jane, “until I met Dorothy. I wish the rest of 
the Wellingtonites were like her.” It may be set 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


111 

down to Jane’s credit that her impulsive remark 
was not intended to offend Edith Hammond. In 
the interest of the moment she had forgotten the 
sophomore’s existence. 

“Thank you for your very frank opinion of 
me. Miss Allen.” Edith’s voice quivered with 
sarcasm. “It doesn’t surprise me in the least.” 

“I was not ” Jane paused. Her brows 

drew together in an ugly frown. She was about 
to state that she meant nothing personal. Then 
she changed her mind. If Edith chose to mis- 
construe the remark, she was privileged to do so. 
Jane had not purposed insult, but her dislike for 
Edith choked back her budding apology. What 
she did say hardly mended matters. “Pardon 
me, I forgot you were present,” she drawled in- 
differently. 

Anger robbed Edith of a fitting retaliation. 
With a contemptuous toss of her head, she rose. 
Ignoring Jane, she smiled rather patronizingly at 
Adrienne. “I’m so glad I met you. Miss Du- 
pree,” she said sweetly. “Sorry I can’t stay, but 
I must see a friend before my first recitation. 
I’ll drop in on you later. Dot.” 

“Amiable child,” mocked Miss Dupree lightly, 
the moment Edith’s back was turned. “She is 
shocked. I read it in her eye. What is the col- 


ii8 


JANE ALLEN 


lege coming to, I wonder, to take in the stray 
dancer that she may acquire knowledge?’’ Ad- 
rienne’s animated features assumed an expres- 
sion of horrified disapproval that provoked 
laughter. It was not against Edith, however. 
It was born merely of the French girl’s droll 
mimicry of outraged propriety. 

Unluckily Edith Hammond had glanced back 
in time to see Jane and Dorothy laugh. The red 
of hurt pride stung her cheeks as she left Madi- 
son Hall. They should pay, all three of them, 
for their ridicule of her. Dorothy would find 
that it was not wise to preach one thing and 
practise another. As for Jane Allen and that im- 
pertinent little dancer — they would be sorry, too. 
She would go straight to Miss Rutledge and tell 
her that she, for one, objected to the latter’s pres- 
ence in college. Better still, she would have a 
talk with Mrs. Weatherbee. She would under- 
stand and together they would put the matter 
before the dean. Sooner or later the chance 
would come to even her score with Jane Allen, 
too. 

“You are a very droll youngster,” said Dor- 
othy indulgently, “but I am afraid your frank- 
ness will get you into trouble if you are not care- 
ful. Please don’t think I am trying to be a 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


111 

goody-goody or give you a lecture. As a staid 
junior I have the privilege of counseling my little 
freshman sister. Edith Hammond is a delight- 
ful girl, as you will soon learn. We have been 
friends since first I knew her.” 

“Appearances are sometimes deceitful,” ack- 
nowledged Adrienne with naughty emphasis. 
“But there, forgive me.” She slipped from sar- 
casm to pretty penitence. “If she is your friend, 
I promise to like her, to please you. That is, if 
she will allow me to do so.” 

“I don’t believe she can help herself.” Doro- 
thy returned Adrienne’s implied compliment with 
fond sincerity. She was greatly attracted toward 
this tiny, colorful person. “Your roommate, 
Ethel Lacey, seems nice. I haven’t had time to 
call on her yet.” Dorothy resolutely turned the 
talk from Edith. She was inwardly provoked 
at Edith’s attack upon Jane, but her calm face 
betrayed no sign of it. 

With the strain of Edith’s presence removed, 
however, the remainder of the meal passed off 
pleasantly enough. Jane finished her breakfast 
first, but she lingered at the table, fascinated by 
Adrienne Dupree. 

“I suppose my first duty is to hold the inter- 
view with the registrar. I hope she will not cause 


120 


JANE ALLEN 


me to feel of the height of two inches, or perhaps 
gobble me up.” Adrienne made an impish grim- 
ace. “I'm to be a special victim of examinations, 
it seems.” 

“Shall I take you to her?” proposed Jane. 
“My first recitation is Livy, and it doesn’t come 
until ten. You can go to chapel with Dorothy 
and me, then afterward we can go on to Welling- 
ton Hall.” 

“Very fine and truly hospitable,” accepted 
Adrienne gaily. “Does chapel mean morning 
devotions?” 

“It does,” smiled Dorothy, “and you must be 
very good and as quiet as a mouse, or the faculty 
won’t like you.” 

“Perhaps I shall not like the faculty,” dimpled 
Adrienne. 

“It’s your duty to, unless you’re conditioned. 
Then your lack of devotion will be excusable.” 

Jane and Dorothy felt themselves to be actual 
giants as they crossed the campus to the chapel 
with the diminutive Adrienne between them. At 
the door Dorothy left them to take her place 
among the juniors. Jane and Adrienne found 
seats in the pews reserved for the freshman class. 

During the short devotional service, the French 
girl was a model of discreet silence. Her bright 


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I2I 


eyes, however, kept up a constant roving over 
the rows of students, and like all impressionable 
persons of her type she drew quantities of con- 
clusions concerning them. 

“I’m glad ihafs over,” she announced with a 
sigh of relief as the two complex children of im- 
pulse, so opposite in nature, yet so alike in spirit, 
left the chapel to go to Wellington Hall. “I 
hate being solemn. I like to laugh and sing and 
dance. Oh, how I love to dance !” She paused in 
the middle of the campus and clasped her small 
hands in fervent ecstacy. 

“Chapel always makes me feel blue,” was 
Jane’s gloomy comment. 

“What’s the matter with you?” Adrienne had 
now resumed her walk at Jane’s side. “You are 
— oh — ^you have the unhappy look, as mon pere 
would say. Is it because you hate this college? 
You said at the breakfast table that you did not 
wish to come here. Where do you live? In the 
wide West, I suppose. You spoke of Denver. 
I always remember everything I hear.” 

Jane spoke briefly of herself and her home. 
Yet she told Adrienne more than she had admit- 
ted to anyone else since her arrival. 

“I see the reason, indeed.” Adrienne gave 
Jane’s arm a reassuring pat. “But never mind.” 


122 


JANE ALLEN 


Her quaint phrasing was reminiscent of her for- 
eign parentage. “Be of good cheer. I had the 
feeling of liking for you, the minute my eyes saw 
you. You are nicer even than the Dorothy girl. 
We are both of the same mind. Let us be great 
friends. Je vous aime. Je vous ador. Que 
voulez vous encore?"^ She stopped again, hold- 
ing out her small hands to Jane in a pretty ges- 
ture of invitation. 

Jane caught them in a firm clasp. “I’d love 
to be best friends,” she said, deeply moved. And 
as she pledged K rrself to friendship, Jane took 
her first definite step toward being a real girl 
among girls. 


CHAPTER XII 

A LOSS THAT PROVED A GAIN 

.. t 

A fter the advent of Adrienne Dupree 
into Madison Hall, Jane took a new 
lease in college life. She no longer felt 
so unutterably alone. The arrival of the piquant- 
faced French girl had wrought a welcome change 
in the tiresome routine to which she was bravely 
trying to accustom herself. She found it hard 
to credit that she, the Jane Allen who had scorned 
the society of girls, should have at last succumbed 
to* it. Over and over she wondered how it had 
happened that this lovely little person, who over- 
flowed with high-spirited gaiety, should have 
been attracted to her. Jane was as yet too full 
of the wrong of being banished from El Capitan 
to realize her own claim to a type of beauty quite 
as convincing as Adrienne’s. Her regular fea- 
tures, slender, graceful flgure and erect, proud 
bearing combined to make her singularly attract- 

123 


124 


JANE ALLEN 


ive. But the stubborn, rebellious spirit that 
dwelt within robbed her fine face of its natural 
charm, thus repelling rather than attracting 
those who were forced to concede that she was 
“stunning,” but 

Adrienne, however, rapidly grew in popular- 
ity at Madison Hall. Once her trial of examina- 
tions had been met and disposed of to her credit, 
her restless nature demanded a thorough explora- 
tion of her habitation and an acquaintance with 
all who dwelt within its walls. Edith Ham- 
mond’s indignant protest against her to Mrs. 
Weatherbee met with no dire results. That 
august individual was by no means anxious to 
lay a complaint against the elfish child of the 
theatre before Miss Rutledge. She sympathized 
prettily with Edith, thereby showing her own dis- 
approval of Adrienne. She stated with a nice 
amount of regret that she had learned from Miss 
Rutledge of a firm friendship that had existed 
for many years between President Blakesly and 
Miss Dupree’s father. This was equivalent to 
saying that her hands were tied regarding this 
newest arrival at the Hall. 

Beaten at this point, Edith was forced to drop 
all thought of ousting Adrienne from Welling- 
ton. She therefore turned her attention to a 


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125 


study of ways and means of making the little girl 
uncomfortable. She had quickly abandoned her 
plan to belittle Dorothy Martin in the eyes of 
her fellow students. Dorothy stood so patently 
for all of Wellington’s highest traditions that to 
attack her strongly fortified position would mean 
Edith’s ultimate defeat. As freshmen, Jane and 
Adrienne would be far easier to discredit. Jane 
had already made several enemies and Adrienne 
bore the stamp of the theatre. It was splendid 
capital on which to proceed. 

But, in the clever little French girl, she found 
a foeman worthy of her steel. Brought up in 
the atmosphere of the theatre, Adrienne had 
learned to read human nature with surprising 
accuracy. Born of a people to whom diplomacy 
is second nature, she divined Edith’s intentions 
and immediately lined up her forces. With the 
exception of Marian Seaton, Maizie Gilbert and 
Alicia Reynolds, the girls of Madison Hall 
flocked to her standard. Her mother’s prestige 
in the world of the fine arts, her friendly footing 
with the Blakeslys, and lastly her own prettiness 
and charm were points indisputably in her favor. 
Then, too, the very fact that she had been on the 
stage as a professional dancer lent an irresistible 
glamor to her sayings and doings. 


126 


JANE ALLEN 


Edith’s animosity toward herself she met with 
a joyous air of innocence that was highly divert- 
ing to Jane and Dorothy. But there were occa- 
sions when her roguish black eyes could flash 
forth unmistakable danger signals. Then she 
would tantalizingly lead Edith on to angry dis- 
cussion, merely to deliver a lightning thrust that 
left her gasping. She was quite sufficient unto 
herself, as Edith discovered to her chagrin, and 
after several disconcerting encounters, she found 
it advisable to treat Adrienne civilly. 

Jane, however, was a fruitful subject for an- 
noyance. Hers was a nature too intense to meet 
sneers with laughter, and thus bring about the 
discomfiture of her who sneered. True, she sel- 
dom deigned to reply in kind to Edith’s veiled 
flings, but her lowering brows gave strong hint 
that she felt the sting. Privately, Adrienne had 
begged Jane to allow her to do battle in her be- 
half. Jane had refused her good offices with a 
curtness that warned her not to interfere. De- 
spite her fondness for the taciturn Westerner, 
Adrienne was a trifle afraid of her. At times she 
was sure she understood Jane. Again she felt 
that she did not understand her at all. 

Due largely to the popular little girl’s open 
fondness for her moody friend, a few of the 


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127 


Madison Hall contingent made half-hearted ad- 
vances toward acquaintance with Jane. But the 
caustic criticism of Marian Seaton and her 
friends, Edith Hammond’s dislike for her, Ju- 
dith Stearns’ wrongs, which Marian had secretly 
confided to Maizie Gilbert, who had in turn re- 
lated them to half a dozen others, and Jane’s own 
antagonistic attitude combined to put her in dis- 
tinct disfavor. 

Yet there was one person at Madison Hall 
who had received a deeper insight into Jane’s 
true disposition than even Adrienne Dupree. 
That person was Judith Stearns. Quite by 
chance the key had been placed in her hands. 
On the Sunday evening when Jane had written 
her impassioned plea to her father, torn it across 
and flung it into the wastebasket, she had no 
notion that eyes other than her own would read 
it. On that same evening, absent-minded J udith 
had spent the evening in Ethel Lacey’s room, 
writing a theme for the next day’s English. She 
had remained there until the half -past-ten limit, 
and hurried to her room, one hand holding the 
original draft of the theme, the other the finished 
work. She had crumpled the discarded sheets 
together and carelessly tossed them into her 
wastebasket. 


128 


JANE ALLEN 


On the following morning, after Jane had left 
the room, Judith had found to her consternation 
that it was the final copy which she had discarded. 
A frenzied rummaging of the basket yielded the 
cherished but badly treated theme. As she 
brought forth the wrinkled sheets of paper, half 
of Jane’s note came with them. Before she real- 
ized that she was perusing strictly private cor- 
respondence she had read enough of poor Jane’s 
acknowledgment of defeat to cause her to catch 
her breath sharply. Honor now awoke; she 
would not allow herself to search in the basket 
for the missing half. The potent phrases, 
“Daddy, dear, I can’t stand it,” “how horrible 
everything here is,” “miserable place,” danced 
before her eyes and filled her warm heart with 
an overwhelming sense of pity for her room- 
mate. 

She now knew that Jane Allen’s indifferent 
face masked an unhappiness of which she alone 
had chanced to learn. If Jane had suddenly en- 
tered the room, Judith would have flown to com- 
fort her. But as she did not appear, Judith 
thoughtfully reduced the betraying paper to un- 
readable bits and dropped them in the basket. 
In her abstraction over her discovery she picked 
up a sheet of her theme and was about to demol- 


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129 


ish it. Providentially catching sight of her own 
handwriting, she giggled softly at her near 
blunder and began smoothing out its crumpled 
folds. 

Later, as she hurried across the campus to her 
English recitation, the rescued theme in her hand, 
she pondered so deeply over how she might 
straighten matters with her despondent room- 
mate that she meandered dreamily into the hall 
where her classroom lay, opened the wrong door 
and broke in upon a recitation in French, much 
to the instructor’s disgust. 

When she and Jane were finally alone to- 
gether, which was not until just before dinner 
that evening, Judith tried vainly to think of some 
way in which she might speak of her discovery. 
Fear of being misunderstood and accused of pry- 
ing held her silent. She did not know how to 
begin or what to say in explanation. So she put 
off speaking, and, as the autumn days glided by, 
she could never screw up her courage to say what 
she wished. But, although she was unconscious 
of it, Jane’s need of a friend had brought her one 
who was only waiting for an opportunity to de- 
clare herself. 

Opportunity has a well-known habit of crop- 
ping up unexpectedly. Late one afternoon Jane 


130 


JANE ALLEN 


came hurrying into her room, cheeks aglow, her 
curls flying. She had just come from a long ride 
through the crisp fall air on Firefly, and the old 
joy of living had returned to her with a rush. 
She was no longer the silent, sullen person who 
kept everyone at arm’s length. She was again 
the radiant, impulsive Jane of El Capitan, who 
won her way to whatever she desired by the force 
of her bubbling high spirits. 

An unexpected sight brought her to a quick 
halt in the middle of the room. Face downward 
on her bed lay Judith, her shoulders shaking. 
The unmistakable sound of muffled sobs pro- 
ceeded from her immediate vicinity. 

“What’s the matter. Miss Stearns?” The 
sounds of distress caused Jane to forget herself. 
She knew only that a fellow being was suffering, 
and her natural sympathy, which she had hitherto 
doggedly stifled, rose to the surface. 

“It’s — g-o-n-e!” wailed Judith, too deeply im- 
mersed in her own woes to realize that her 
hitherto unapproachable roommate was moved by 
her tears. 

“What’s gone?” demanded Jane, walking over 
to where Judith lay. “Have you lost some- 
thing?” 

“Y-e-s.” Judith gulped, sighed and slowly 


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121 

sat up, pushing a refractory lock of hair out of 

her eyes. '‘I’ve lost ” Her lips quivered 

ominously. “I’ve lost my locket and chain!” 

“Oh!” Jane’s sympathy began to ebb. Ju- 
dith’s trouble was nothing serious after all. She 
could not imagine herself reduced to such a state 
of grief over a mere bauble. “That is too bad,” 
she said rather lamely. “Was it very valuable?” 

Judith nodded. “My mother gave it to me,” 
she returned huskily. Two big tears rolled down 
her cheeks. “I had it on when I went to English 
this morning. I’m quite sure I had. I didn’t 
miss it until I started for the Hall. I put my 
hand to my neck and it — was — g-o-n-e.” Judith 
began to weep afresh. “I’m — always — losing — 
things. I’m — so — absent-minded.” 

“Don’t cry about it any more,” counseled Jane 
impatiently. “I’ll help you find it. Describe it 
to me and I’ll write a notice and put it on the 
bulletin board. Did you go back and look for 
it?” 

“Ye-s. I put a notice on the bulletin board 
downstairs and asked every girl I met if she’d 
heard of its being found. Nobody had. It was 
just a round, plain gold locket on a thin gold 
chain. It had my mother’s picture in it and a 
curl of her hair. She had beautiful curly golden 


132 


JANE ALLEN 


hair.” Judith groped about on the bed for her 
handkerchief and wiped her eyes. 

Jane cast a startled glance at the dejected 
weeper. Judith had spoken in the past tense of 

her mother. Did she mean that “Is your 

mother dead?” she asked, her voice dropping on 
the last dread word. 

Judith nodded again. She raised her blue, 
tear-wet eyes with a look so unutterably pathetic 
that it went straight to Jane’s heart. Swayed by 
an excess of pity, born of their common loss, Jane 
sat down beside Judith and slid a sympathetic 
arm about her neck. “I know how dreadfully 
you feel,” she said unsteadily. “I — ^my mother’s 
dead, too.” Jane stared at the opposite wall with 
blurred, unseeing eyes. 

Judith reached out and slipped a timid hand 
into Jane’s. The deep sorrow they had both 
known made them one in spirit. 

For a little they sat in silence. It was Judith 
who broke it. “I’ve been trying to say something 
to you for a long time,” she faltered. “It is ” 

“I’ve something to say to you, too,” interrupted 
Jane gently. “Please let me say it first.” She 
had sprung to the conclusion that Judith intended 
to blame herself for certain things of which she 
was hardly guilty. Whatever apology was to be 


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133 


made J ane decided must emanate from her lips. 
“I’m sorry I was so hateful that first day. You 
thought I didn’t wish to room with you, and I 
was so angry with Mrs. Weatherbee I didn’t care 
what you thought. I liked you when you first 
spoke to me. I was sorry afterward for all I 
said. Then when you didn’t speak to me at the 
Inn, I was mortified and angrier than ever.” 

“But I met you on the campus before that and 
you didn’t speak to me,” reminded Judith. 
“That made me cross, too.” 

“I didn’t see you. If I had, I would have 
bowed to you,” Jane replied with convincing 
earnestness. 

Judith’s sad face brightened into a shy smile. 
“I’m afraid we misunderstood each other all 
around,” she murmured. “I’d love to be your 
friend.” Her fingers tightened on Jane’s. 

“And I yours.” Jane returned the friendly 
pressure. “Tell me about — ^your mother.” 

Judith soberly complied with a brief descrip- 
tion of her mother, long an invalid, who had 
passed away while she was in her freshman year 
at high school. The locket had been a birthday 
present; her mother’s last gift to her in com- 
memoration of the anniversary of her birth. 

“No wonder you prized it,” was Jane’s sympa- 


134 


JANE ALLEN 


thetic comment. “We must try to find it.” She 
said no more for a little. Then she began hesitat- 
ingly: “I’d like to tell you about my mother. I 
always called her Dearest. She was a student at 
Wellington when it was just a seminary. She 
wanted me to come here.” Jane went on with a 
recital of those dark days at El Capitan that had 
followed upon her father’s disclosure of his plan 
for her education. 

“It’s been very hard for you, hasn’t it?” sighed 
Judith. A bright flush suddenly dyed her fair 
skin. “I told you I had something to say to 
you.” She recounted her accidental reading of 
the torn half of Jane’s discarded letter to her 
father. “I didn’t realize what it was until after 
I read it,” she apologized. “I tore it up and,” 
her gravity merged into a soft chuckle, “I was so 
upset I almost tore up a page of my theme, too.” 
She went on to relate how she had blundered into 
the French recitation. 

True to the marvelous faculty youth has of 
rushing in a breath from tears to smiles, the sad 
heart-to-heart talk ended in a burst of laughter 
over Judith’s unfortunate failing. 

“f guess I must have been born absent-mind- 
ed,” she conceded ruefully. “I can never keep 
my mind on two things at once. I start out to do 


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135 


something and then somebody comes along and 
I forgot all about it and rush into trouble. My 
blunders are generally funny ones, though. But 
losing my locket isn’t.” Her face fell. 

“Perhaps you didn’t wear it to-day,” sug- 
gested Jane hopefully. “Maybe it’s somewhere 
about the room. Suppose we hunt for it here.” 

“I’m afraid I wore it.” Judith rose from the 
bed and going to her dressing table disconsolately 
poked its contents about. “No; it’s not here.” 

Jane began a systematic prowl about the room, 
her sharp eyes scrutinizing every object that 
might harbor the missing locket. Judith ambled 
aimlessly along after her. “You won’t find it 
there,” she discouraged, as Jane opened the closet 
door and peered into the closet. On the inner 
side of the door were several hooks. One of them 
held Jane’s walking hat. The opening of the 
door dislodged it, causing it to fall to the floor. 
Jane picked it up and was about to replace it. 
Then she gave a little amused laugh. Depending 
from a hook, which usually held Judith’s blue 
velour hat, was a slender gold chain. From it 
dangled a gold locket. “Here’s your lost locket,” 
she announced jubilantly, “but how in the world 
did you happen to hang it there?” 

Judith stared at her with the air of a sleep- 


JANE ALLEN 


136 

walker who has awakened in the midst of a mid- 
night perambulation. “I might have known it,” 
was her sheepish comment as she seized the locket 
and patted it lovingly. “Now I remember. I 
had it in my hand this morning. I was in a 
hurry. I opened the closet door and my hat fell 
down. I was so busy worrying for fear I’d be 
late for class that I picked up my hat, put it on 
my head, hung the locket on that hook and never 
knew it. I don’t wear my hat half the time and 
I thought there was something different about 
me, but I couldn’t tell what it was. I’m afraid 
I need a keeper.” She giggled softly. 

“I’m afraid you do.” Jane echoed the giggle, 
thereby proving herself on an equality with the 
average girl. “I think I’d better apply for the 
high office. Hereafter I shall watch you like a 
hawk.” 

“I wish you would. I need to be reformed. 
I’m glad to have my locket, but I’m glad I lost 

it, too. If I hadn’t ” Her eyes met Jane’s 

in a gaze of dawning affection. 

“We’d have gone on misunderstanding each 
other,” finished Jane soberly. And although she 
could not find words to say so, she wondered 
dreamily if the mothers they mourned had con- 
spired together in Heaven to roll away the clouds 
of misunderstanding. 


CHAPTER XIII 


IN THE CLUTCH OF HATE 

T he affair of the locket forged another 
link in the chain that was one day to bind 
J ane heart and soul to W ellington. N ow 
that she and Judith had made peace, she discov- 
ered that a roommate was a blessing rather than 
a curse. With the lifting of the heavy constraint 
which had made them both so unhappy, Judith’s 
sunny good-nature blossomed like a flower. She 
no longer felt afraid of Jane. The latter’s many 
moods did not now dismay her. Hers was a 
nature that preferred to follow rather than to 
lead. When Jane was silent to moroseness, 
Judith went quietly about her own affairs, pre- 
tending not to notice. But during Jane’s lighter 
moods, she met her roommate with whole-souled 
cheerfulness. 

“What shall you wear to the freshman dance, 
Jane?” asked Judith one rainy afternoon. Jane 
137 


138 


JANE ALLEN 


had come in from her last class to find Judith in 
the midst of a wholesale overhauling of her trunk. 
Three evening frocks were conspicuously laid out 
on her bed, while Judith stood in rapt contem- 
plation of them, trying to decide which of them 
should adorn her tall, slender person. 

“I’m not going.” Jane’s face clouded as she 
made this succinct answer. 

“Not going?” Judith shifted her gaze from 
the gowns to Jane. “But you must. No good 
freshman ever stays away from that dance. It’s 
our duty to be present.” 

“It’s not mine.” Jane’s jaw set stubbornly. 
Not even to Judith would she admit that her 
chief reason for staying away from the much- 
discussed dance was due to the lack of proper j 
escort. From Dorothy Martin she had learned ‘ 
that it was the custom of the upper class students j 
to extend personal invitations to their freshman J 
sisters. Judith had already been invited by a j 
sophomore who lived at Argyle Hall. No one i 
had taken the trouble to invite her^ therefore ^ 
Jane scorned to be one of those who, minus an i 
escort, were forced to attend the festivity singly ^ 
or in company with other freshmen who had not i 
been fortunate enough to receive personal invita- 
tions from their big sisters. 


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139 


“But think of the good time you’ll miss,” ar- 
gued Judith. “And you have so many pretty 
frocks, too. You’d look perfectly stunning in 
that dull gold chiffon frock. Don’t you like 
dancing?” 

“I don’t care so very much about it.” Jane 
shrugged her shoulders with a brave show of in- 
difference. She did care a great deal, however. 
Privately she had half hoped that Dorothy might 
invite her. She had scornfully dismissed the 
thought when she remembered the junior’s high 
standing at Wellington. Dorothy knew many 
girls whom she probably liked far better than 
Jane. If Dorothy had purposed inviting her she 
would have done so before now. It lacked but 
four days of the Saturday evening set for the 
affair. But Dorothy had not even spoken of it 
to her, and she knew no other upper class student 
well enough to count on an invitation. 

“Perhaps you’ll change your mind before Sat- 
urday evening,” Judith insisted. As she said this 
an inkling of the true state of affairs dawned 
upon her. “She hasn’t been specially invited,” 
was her guess. Regretting her persistency, Ju- 
dith said hastily, “I don’t know which of these to 
wear.” She waved a hand toward the spread-out 
finery. 


140 


JANE ALLEN 


“Why don’t you wear the white one?” Jane 
made resolute effort to banish her own disap- 
pointment and interest herself in Judith’s prob- 
lem. “That frilly lace dress is exactly suited to 
you.” 

“I believe I will.” Judith picked up the soft 
lace frock and smoothed one of its many ruffles. 
“I’ve a perfectly sweet blue ribbon sash to go 
with it.” 

“Haven’t you a white one? I think I’d like a 
white sash better than a blue.” 

“No; I’ve only a white ribbon belt and I don’t 
care much for it.” 

“Wait a minute.” Jane crossed to the chif- 
fonier. Opening a drawer, she fumbled in it for 
a moment. “How do you like this?” She held 
up a wonderful sash of sheer white silk. It was 
embroidered here and there with tiny white 
daisies. The ends bore a deeply embroidered de- 
sign of the same flower and were finished with 
heavy white silk fringe. 

“Oh!” Judith gasped in admiration as Jane 
tossed it into her outstretched hands. “Isn’t it 
exquisite? I never saw anything quite like 
it.” 

“Dad bought it in Mexico. It was embroid- 
ered by a nun in the San Sebastian convent. I’ve 


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141 

never worn it. You may keep it, if you will. It 
really belongs with that dress.” 

“I couldn’t accept it. It’s far too beautiful for 
you to give away,” protested Judith. “I don’t 
believe I ought even to wear it to the dance. 
Something might happen to it.” 

“You are to keep it.” Jane’s tones held final- 
ity. “I wish you to have it. Dad can get me 
another just as pretty when he goes across the 
border again. His business takes him to Mexico 
several times a year.” 

“Jane Allen, you are too sweet for anything!” 
Judith laid the sash on top of the white gown and 
proceeded to hug her roommate with grateful 
fervor. “I won’t refuse it, because I know you 
would truly like me to keep it.” 

“There goes my hair.” Jane laughed and dis- 
engaged herself from Judith’s devastating arms. 
A faint flush of embarrassment tinged her 
cheeks. She was not used to caresses. Still, it 
was pleasant to know that one was appreciated. 

But Judith yearned to show further appreci- 
ation, as she stood gloating over her newly ac- 
quired riches. The delighted freshman had 
quietly made up her mind that she would make 
it her business to see that some one invited Jane 
to the hop. She would put the matter before 


142 


JANE ALLEN 


Dorothy Martin. Dorothy would help her to 
bring about the desired result. Judith, too, 
though it strange that the junior had not offered 
herself to Jane as an escort. Jane had been un- 
tiring in her zeal to teach Dorothy to ride, and 
the two spent considerable time together. 

Judith’s good offices were not required, how- 
ever, for when Jane came upstairs after dinner 
that evening her radiant face was the forerunner 
of pleasant news. She tried to keep the excite- 
ment out of her voice as she said casually, ‘‘Doro- 
thy Martin has invited me to the freshman hop.” 
But a happy little thrill in her tones told its own 
story. 

“I’m ever so glad.” Judith made hearty re- 
sponse. “Of course, you’ll go now.” 

“Yes; I believe I ought to accept. In fact 
I’ve already accepted.” Jane looked unutter- 
ably happy. “I’ll wear the gold-colored gown 
you said you liked. I’ve a pretty gold necklace 
with flat carved links to wear with it, and a sweet 
pair of slippers to match the gown.” 

“We’ll be freshmen belles,” prophesied Judith 
gaily when Jane had exhibited the necklace for 
her edification. “With that necklace and my sash 
as fine touches of ornamentation, behold the ob- 
served of all observers. 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


143 


“Let’s have a grand trying-on of finery,” she 
proposed. “I’m crazy to see you in that golden 
dress. Besides, I’d like to try the effect of my 
embroidered sash. It won’t take long if we hurry, 
and we can study for all we’re worth to make up 
for lost time. I’ll put a busy sign on the door, 
so we won’t be disturbed.” 

“All right,” agreed Jane with ready eagerness. 
She could not repress a wry smile at Judith’s 
precaution, however. Someone was always com- 
ing to the door in quest of her genial roommate. 
Aside from Adrienne Dupree and Dorothy, no 
one ever came to see her. 

The two girls spent a happy session dressing 
up, Judith looked girlishly pretty in her fluffy 
white frock, and Jane exclaimed warmly over the 
dainty picture she made. She was a trifle startled, 
however, when Judith cried out admiringly, 
“Jane Allen, you are positively beautiful! You 
look exactly like a princess.” Taking Jane by 
the arm she led her to her dressing-table. “Deign 
to gaze upon yourself, your Highness,” she 
laughingly ordered, making a low bow. 

“You’re a dear old goose, Judy.” Neverthe- 
less Jane’s color heightened at the story the mir- 
ror told. The long, graceful lines of the golden 
frock, which brought out the red lights in her 


144 


JANE ALLEN 


bronze hair, gave her a stately appearance, such 
as princesses are fabled to possess. The square- 
cut neck showed the white column of her beauti- 
ful throat and a little of her sloping shoulders. 
The short sleeves feU away from her softly 
rounded arms, the contour of which was particu- 
larly lovely. Jane did indeed present the ap- 
pearance of royalty. Face to face with herself, 
she could not deny her own beauty. 

‘Tt will do veiry well,” she said shortly, turning 
away from the mirror. Vanity was not one of 
her failings. She did not propose to yield to it 
even briefly. Yet as she put away the party 
dress, preparatory to studjdng her lessons, she 
could not help hoping somewhat wistfully that 
Dorothy would be pleased with her freshman. 

For an hour after the two had settled them- 
selves to their work, silence reigned supreme. 

“Oh, bother!” Judith was turning over the 
books on the table, an expression of annoyance 
on her placid face. “I’ve left my notebook on the 
living-room table. I stopped there to talk to 
Jlary Ashton this afternoon and you can guess 
the rest. I’U have to dress and go downstairs for 
it. I don’t dare go as I am. If Mrs. Weather- 
bee saw me parading about down there in my 
kimono she’d never survive the shock.” 


OF THE SUB-^TEAM 


145 


“Let me go for you/’ offered Jane. After the 
try-on she had resumed the one-piece gown of 
blue serge that she had worn all day. 

“I’m sorry to trouble you, but if you would 
I’d be eternally grateful.” Judith looked relief. 
“iTou can’t miss it. My name’s written on the 
cover. It’s on the library table.” 

Jane was already at the door as Judith spoke. 
Running lightly down the stairs, she approached 
the doorway of the living room. Her feet were 
on the threshold when the sound of Edith Ham- 
mond’s high-pitched tones caused her to halt. 
Ordinarily she would have walked in unmindful 
of the latter’s presence. Unfortunately she heard 
that which rooted her to the spot. From between 
the portieres the room appeared to be deserted 
of occupants. She could not see Edith, for she 
was occupying an oak settle at the right of the 
door, but she could hear distinctly. “I think it’s 
a burning shame. Dot, that you are going to 
saddle yourself with that horrid Allen girl,” 
Edith was complaining pettishly. “She will com- 
pletely spoil your evening. She’s thoroughly dis- 
liked here at the Hall. You’ll find yourself with 
an elephant on your hands Saturday night.” 

“You don’t understand, Edith,” replied Doro- 
thy’s patient voice. ‘‘She has been very sweet to 


146 


JANE ALLEN 


me and it’s only fair that I should try to make 
some return. I’m sorry for Jane, Edith. It’s 
really too bad ” 

But Jane did not wait to hear more. She 
faced about and fled upstairs as though pursued 
by demons. Dashing into her room, she flimg 
herself down in the chair she had lately occupied, 
her face dark with fury. 

“Did you get it?” Judith did not raise her 
eyes from her book. She was quite accustomed 
to Jane’s abrupt fashion of entrance. Receiving 
no answer to her question, she looked up. 
“What’s the matter?” Jane’s storm-ridden fea- 
tures fllled her with sudden dread. Something 
disagreeable had happened. That was evident. 

Still Jane made no response. She sat with her 
chin in her hands as though turned to stone. “I 
hate Edith Hammond!” she muttered between 
set teeth. “I hate her. Do you hear me?” 

“I’m not deaf,” Judith reminded smilingly 
with a view to scattering the storm that seemed 
about to break. “Don’t pay any attention to her. 
She isn’t a strictly genial person. I’m not ex- 
travagantly fond of her, either. What’s her 
latest crime, Janie?” 

“I hate Dorothy Martin, too,” Jane continued 
to glower savagely. “I’ll show her that I don’t 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


147 


I need her pity. I despise deceit. I never would 
have believed that she could be so hateful.” 

Real concern now leaped into Judith’s eyes. 

; “You can’t mean that of Dorothy,” she said in- 
credulously. 

Jane raised her head with a jerk and glared 
angrily at Judith. “Don’t try to defend her. If 
you do I shall hate you, too. And don’t say an- 
other word to me about the dance. That’s all.” 

“But ” protested Judith. 

“I sazdj ‘That’s all.’ ” Jane snatched her books 
from the table, slammed them down on it in an 
uneven pile and stalked to the window. 

Judith sighed softly and dropped her eyes to 
her book. It was useless to continue her inquiry. 
She wished that she had not allowed Jane to go 
for her notebook. As it was she had not brought 
it with her. Instead she had returned in a tem- 
pest of ill-humor. Whatever had occurred in that 
brief space of time, Dorothy Martin and Edith 
Hammond were concerned in it. Now Jane 
would not go to the hop. It was too provoking. 
She tried to fix her mind on her lessons, but 
Jane’s furious face stared at her from the printed 
pages. 

“I’m going to bed,” she announced finally, 
timidly addressing the immovable figure at the 


148 


JANE ALLEN 


window. “You’d better come, too. It’s almost 
half-past.” 

“I’ll go to bed when I get ready,” came the 
rude answer. “Please let me alone.” 

Having announced her intention, Judith 
dawled through her preparations for sleep, now 
and then stealing a pitying glance at Jane. She 
was not angry at Jane’s rudeness. She under- 
stood dimly that her roommate was wrestling in 
the grip of some dark misfortune which she pre- 
ferred not to reveal. When at last she laid her 
wondering brown head on her pillow, Jane still 
stood at the window, staring fixedly out at the 
night. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE OUTLANDER 


T breakfast the next morning Jane coldly 



informed Dorothy Martin that she could 


not accept her invitation to the coming 
dance. She felt wickedly satisfied at the result. 
Dorothy’s tranquil face was visited with a quick 
flush that Jane construed as guilt. “Why not?” 
she demanded in a tone of astonishment that Jane 
chose to consider counterfeit. 

“Because I don’t wish to go,” returned Jane 
with brusque brevity. 

Edith Hammond smiled maliciously, while 
Adrienne Dupree’s childlike eyes grew very 
round. “That is the best answer in the world, if 
you mean it.” Dorothy tried to cover her annoy- 
aiice with an attempt at being pleasant. 

“I mean it.” Jane devoted her attention to 
her grape fruit, her brows drawn in the old 


150 


JANE ALLEN 


frown that had not been in evidence of late. 

“Why won’t you go, Jane?” burst forth Ad- 
rienne. “I shall be most disappointed if you’re 
not there on the great night.” 

Jane merely glanced at her, and dug her spoon 
savagely into her grape fruit. 

An angry sparkle showed itself in the little 
French girl’s eyes. Although she was fond of 
Jane, she did not enjoy being thus ignored. 

“Very likely Miss Allen has reasons of her 
own for not going which she prefers to keep to 
herself,” suggested Edith with mocking sweet- 
ness. 

“You, at least, are not likely to hear them,” 
was Jane’s sharp rejoinder. 

“I should not be interested in hearing them,” 
snapped Edith. 

“No; I don’t think you would be.” Jane’s 
retort caused Edith to stir guiltily. She won- 
dered uneasily what the emphasis on the “y®^” 
meant. There was more behind it than appeared 
on the surface. 

“As your big sister, girls, I can’t allow you to 
quarrel like this.” Dorothy’s tone was very 
grave. “I am sorry, Jane, that you won’t accept 
me as an escort. That is all that need be said, I 
think.” 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


iii 

Breakfast proved a dismal repast. Jane’s 
glowering face put a damper on conversation. 
Adrienne was slightly ruffled at being ignored 
by her friend. Dorothy was too greatly hurt to 
talk much. Edith was also sulky at being re- 
proved by Dorothy. 

Jane left the table first, silent and morose. 

“I wonder what ails her Highness,” sneered 
Edith. “It is evident that ” 

“We will not discuss Jane, if you please.” 
Dorothy’s lips were firmly compressed. 

“Oh, very well.” Edith tossed her head. She 
rose almost immediately and strolled out of the 
dining room. 

“I’m going to interview naughty Jane,” an- 
nounced Adrienne. “It is I who will find out 
what has given her the unhappiness.” 

But Adrienne reckoned without her host. Pur- 
suing Jane to her room, she besieged her with a 
rapid fire of questions, to all of which she received 
no reply except, “I have nothing to say. I’m 
not angry with you. I’m not going to the dance 
and that settles it.” 

“Then it is for nothing that I have come to 
offer the sympathy!” cried Adrienne at last in 
exasperation. She left the room distinctly out 
of sorts with Jane, resolving that she would let 


152 


JANE ALLEN 


her severely alone until her ill-humor had van- 
ished. 

During the remaining days preceding the fes- 
tivity, Jane behaved in the formidable fashion of 
her first week at Wellington. At table she 
shrouded herself in a garment of indifference that i 
was most trying to Dorothy. She had not the 
remotest idea of Jane’s mysterious grievance. ; 
She had knocked at Jane’s door on the evening j 
of the day she had been rebuffed. Judith had j 
admitted her joyfully, but Jane had ignored her j 
very presence. A swift rush of hurt pride hur- 
ried her out without having said that which she 
had come to say. Quietly accepting her defeat, j 
she did not again attempt to make peace. 

Good-natured Judith found Jane hard to live 
with during those four gloomy days that pre- 
ceded the dance. Her roommate was suffering 
from a return of her former moroseness. When 
Judith strove to make conversation, Jane simply 
stared or answered in monosyllables. During 
study hours, she developed an annoying habit of 
suddenly shoving aside her books, to spring from 
her chair and pace the room with a long, gliding 
movement that reminded poor Judith of a caged 
lion in a Zoological garden. Weary at last, she 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


153 


would fling herself in a chair to mope discon- 
solately. 

On the evening of the hop she went to Ruther- 
ford Inn for dinner, there to brood in solitary 
grandeur. It was her intention to remain away 
from the Hall until its residents had set off for 
the gymnasium where the affair was to take place. 
She had learned from Judith that the receiving 
party was to be in line at half-past seven, for 
President Blakesly had set eleven o’clock as the 
time limit for the dancing, and the participants 
were anxious to make the most of their revel. 

It was twenty minutes to eight when Jane 
wended her gloomy way to Madison Hall. As 
she entered, she encountered Mrs. Weatherbee, 
who was emerging from the living room. “Some- 
thing came by express for you to-day. Miss Al- 
len. It is in my office. You will find it just 
inside at the left of my desk.” Mrs. Weatherbee 
spoke coldly. From Edith Hammond she had 
heard of Jane’s latest freak of temper, and she 
felt completely out of sympathy with her. 

“Thank you.” Jane stalked through the hall 
to the office to garner what was rightfully hers. 
A ray of light pierced her darkened vision as she 
viewed a square but narrow crate that stood up- 
right against the wall. So, it had come at last. 


154 


JANE ALLEN 


and in her hour of need. Despite its weight, 
Jane raised it in her strong young arms and bore 
it up the stairs to her room. 

Setting it down, she tore at the thin tough 
slats that encased it so sturdily. She succeeded 
in tearing one of them loose, but the others re- 
sisted the strength of her importuning fingers. 
‘‘I’ll have to go downstairs for a hammer,” she 
muttered, and set off in her usual whirlwind 
fashion for the kitchen. 

Jane had never before entered the kitchen of 
the Hall. She had not the slightest idea as to 
where else she might find a hammer. No doubt 
one of the servants could furnish her with that 
useful article. As she swung open the kitchen 
door she just missed coming into violent collision 
with a girl who was seeking exit from the room. 
The girl’s eyes were suspiciously red. She 
averted her face, and, with a murmured, “Excuse 
me,” was about to pass on. 

“Normal” Jane’s voice rang out with real 
concern. “What is the matter?” She halted 
directly in front of the girl, barring her passage. 

“Nothing.” Nevertheless Norma appeared on 
the verge of bursting into tears. She brushed 
Jane gently aside and started down the hall al- 
most at a run. 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


155 


Jane’s first impulse was to follow her. Re- 
membering that, in her darker moods, she her- 
self resented questioning, she walked slowly into 
the kitchen where the servants were busying 
themselves with the washing of the dinner dishes. 
Her polite request for a hammer met with instant 
response. Speeding to her room, Jane lost no 
time in demolishing the stubborn crate. She 
gave a cluck of satisfaction as she snatched a 
heavy, paper-wrapped, square object from its 
excelsior packing. Tearing away the paper, her 
sober features broke into tender radiance. “Dear- 
est!” she whispered, drawing a quick sobbing 
breath. Then she laid her lips to the gentle face 
that looked lovingly out at her from the painted 
canvas. 

Depositing her mother’s portrait on her bed, 
Jane stood before it, her eyes reverently drink- 
ing in the changeless beauty of the loved fea- 
tures. Long she worshipped there. As the mo- 
ments went by the rancor of the preceding days 
vanished, leaving her overwhelmingly sad and 
heartsick. She had promised her mother so much, 
only to break her word. If only she had been 
more patient, less ready to flame into futile rage 
over what now struck her as being merely trivial. 
Would she never succeed in conquering that hate- 


156 


JANE ALLEN 


ful side of her nature which seemed always bound , 
to overshadow her finer impulses? She longed , 
for an opportunity to make swift restitution for 
her faults. But what was there to do? j 

Suddenly Jane remembered the sad, tear- 
stained face Norma Bennett had turned to her > 
as she slipped past her into the hall. Jane re- 
called heavily her resolution to help Norma fight 
her battles. Like the others she had made, it had ' 
amounted to nothing. But it was not yet too 
late. Like herself, Norma had so few friends, 
perhaps she would not resent sympathy if it were , 
sincerely offered. 

Jane tore her eyes from her mother’s portrait 
and walked hesitatingly to the door. Norma 
roomed on the top floor in a narrow cubby-hole 
situated at the back of the house. Jane had : 
obtained this information from Norma herself, i 
during one of their conversations. Although 
Jane had invited Norma to drop in on her, the 
girl had never taken advantage of the kindly 
invitation. Neither had she ever invited Jane to 
call on her. 

Climbing the stairs to the fourth floor, Jane 
paused before the closed door of the room she 
guessed to be Norma’s and knocked rather diffi- | 
dently. Receiving no answer, she repeated the j 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


111 

knock, this time in resolute fashion. She heard 
a stir of footsteps within, then the door opened. 
The eyes that regarded Jane were considerably 
redder than before. Norma had evidently been 
indulging in a solitary burst of weeping. ‘‘Oh!” 
she exclaimed in confusion. “Why, Miss Al- 
len!” 

“I came,” began Jane. She had no idea as to 
what she had best say next. Inspiration seizing 
her, she repeated, “I came — to see if you would 
not like to see my mother’s portrait. I have just 
finished unpacking it.” 

An expression of mingled surprise and hesita- 
tion swept Norma’s face. “I ” She hesi- 

tated, as though about to refuse. 

“Please come,” urged Jane. “I am anxious 
that you, in particular, should see it.” 

“All right, I will — and thank you.” 

Jane had already wheeled to go downstairs. 
Norma followed her, wondering a little what had 
prompted this sudden whim on the part of this 
peculiar, though always to her, kindly girl. 

Three minutes later the two stood side by side 
before the portrait that was the inspiration of all 
Jane’s better impulses. Norma was strangely 
stirred by the gentle loveliness of the pictured 
woman. “How beautiful!” she said softly. “I 


158 


JANE ALLEN 


never knew my mother. She died when I was j 
three weeks old.” I 

“I was twelve when Dearest died,” returned | 
Jane, her gaze fastened on the portrait. 

‘‘I didn’t know — I thought ” stammered 

Norma. “How you must miss her.” 

“I do.” Jane’s answer came with a sharpness 
born of the lonely years. Squaring her shoulders 
as though about to perform a difficult task, she ; 
began abruptly: “It’s none of my business, but 
I wish you’d tell me why you’ve been crying?” j 
Norma’s lip quivered. “I’m a silly to cry,” j 
she answered rather unsteadily, “but — well, I was | 

dreadfully disappointed because I couldn’t go to 
the dance to-night. I know I ought not to mind. 

I’m here for business, not pleasure. Still, I can’t 
help feeling bad sometimes at being so com- 
pletely out of things. I went to it last year. j 
Dorothy Martin invited me. This year it was ’ 
my right to do the inviting, but I couldn’t.” 

“Why not?” demanded Jane. 1 

Norma colored painfully. She wished Jane 
had not asked this searching question. She 
stared fixedly at the portrait. Was it her imagi- ' 
nation, or did the clear gray eyes seem to smile, ' 
encouraging her to make frank reply? Raising 
her head a trifle proudly, she said: “In the first 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


159 


place I haven’t an evening dress. Then, too, I 
am too poor to buy flowers for my freshman. 
All the upper class girls do, you know. I couldn’t 
invite anyone only to make her feel ashamed of 
me. I don’t believe any girl would have ac- 
cepted, if I had. I’m just a nobody at Welling- 
ton.” 

Jane frowned ferociously as she listened. Her 
drawn brows were not an evidence of displeas- 
ure at Norma. She was thinking how greatly 
she despised the absurd social system which puts 
fine clothes and wealth ahead of all else. “It’s 
the heart that counts, Janie.” She could almost 
hear her father’s hearty voice. Suddenly her 
frown gave place to a broad smile. Into her mind 
flashed the old tale of poor, neglected Cinder- 
ella. But Cinderella had found a fairy god- 
mother. Very well. Norma should have a fairy 
godmother, too, for she, Jane Allen, would play 
the part. 


CHAPTER XV 


PLAYING FAIRY GODMOTHER 

M easuring Norma’s tail, but slightly 
drooping figure, in a keen glance, J ane 
burst forth with nervous energy. “Nor- 
ma Bennett, you and I are going to that dance 
together. It’s not quite half -past eight. There 
won’t be time to get any fiowers, but we don’t 
need them. I’m going to be your fairy god- 
mother. I’ve lots of pretty dresses. You are 
about my height and build. I am sure you can 
wear one of them.” 

“Oh, I couldn’t!” gasped Norma. Neverthe- 
less the proposal brought a gleam of sunshine to 
her dejected features. 

Jane appeared not to hear her. She was on 
the other side of the room before the larger of 
her two trunks. Flinging back the lid she lifted 
the shallow tray and deposited it on the floor. A 
i6o 



SHE SPRANG TO HER FEET HOLDING UP A GOWN OF PALE BLUE 

AND WHITE. 


Jane Allen of the Sub-Team 


Page 161 



OF THE SUB^TEAM ^ 

bewildering succession of feminine finery fol- 
lowed it. “Here you are.” She sprang to her 
feet, holding up a gown of shimmering pale blue 
and white. The lower foundation of blue silk 
was laid in tiny pleats. It had an over-drapery 
of white chiffon, caught up with graceful sprays 
of blue velvet forget-me-nots. The short white 
chiffon sleeves were drawn back into artistic 
folds and ornamented with the same flower. The 
round neck ended in a bertha of pleated chiffon 
that fell almost to the short waist. 

“This will fit you,” she nodded. “It’s a trifle 
tight for me. I’ve never worn it. Aunt Mary 
was determined I should have it. Blue’s not my 
color. I’m sure it was made on purpose for you. 
Try it on. If it fits, I wish you to take it as a 

present from ” her eyes sought the portrait, 

“from Dearest. You can’t refuse her gift, now 
can you?” 

Jane felt that this was the most clinching argu- 
ment she could advance. Norma couldn’t pos- 
sibly refuse the frock now. 

Norma eyed the frock in distressed silence. 
She wanted it, oh, how she wanted it. Never in 
her short life had she dreamed of possessing such 
a wonderful gown. Yet pride sealed her lips. 
She wished Jane had not brought her mother into 


i 62 


JANE ALLEN 


the problem. It made refusal so very hard. ‘‘I’d 
love to accept it,” was her honest reply, “but I 
don’t believe I ought.” 

“Here, take it. It’s yours.” J ane boldly prof- 
fered the blue and white wonder. “I’m a deter- 
mined person who won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. 
Wait a minute. I’ll dig up the slippers that go 
with it.” Jane dived into her trunk and rum- 
maged with a will. “Here they are.” She held 
up a pair of narrow pale-blue satin slippers. “I 
hope they will fit. What size shoe do you wear?” 

“Four B.” Things were happening so rapidly 
that Norma saw the slippers through a mist of 
happy tears. 

“These are five A. You can wear them.” Jane 
rose and, going to the chiffonier, returned almost 
instantly with a pair of blue silk stockings and a 
pair of long white gloves. “Oh, yes. I almost 
forgot.” Her last invasion of her trunk was pro- 
ductive of a petticoat of sheer white silk. “Now, 
Cinderella, prepare for the ball,” she laughed. 
“You don’t mind my calling you Cinderella, do 
you? She had a fairy godmother, you know. 
Now we must hurry, or the party will be over 
before we arrive in all our glory.” 

J ane set about her preparations for the hop as 
though the matter were definitely settled. Norma 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


163 

watched her shyly for a little, then she began 
slowly to unfasten her plain white blouse. The 
temptation to be a real butterfly among butter- 
flies was too great to be resisted. 

“How pretty you are!” was Jane’s generous 
praise, as twenty minutes afterward she viewed 
the formerly meek Norma, whom the magic wand 
of kindness had transformed into a radiant vision 
in blue and white. 

“You are simply stunning,” was Norma’s ad- 
miring cry. 

Jane did indeed deserve the tribute. Forget- 
fulness of self had brought her undeniable beauty 
to the front with a bound. She was a study in 
gold, and her gray eyes glowed like lamps under 
her dark brows, now unmarred with the ugly 
frown which so frequently visited them. 

“Here’s a cape.” Jane handed Norma a 
white broadcloth wrap lined with white brocade. 
“You are to keep that, too. It will come handy 
all year.” As she spoke she slipped her arms 
into a fur-trimmed evening coat of old gold plush. 
“Now we are ready. We can walk to the gym- 
nasium. It’s not far and a beautiful night.” 

There was a great craning of necks and more 
than one murmur of admiration as two resplend- 
ent figures entered the gymnasium, which was 


164 


JANE ALLEN 


disguised by many palms, draperies, cushions, 
divans and whatever decorative loot the sopho- 
mores could lay hold on, into the semblance of a 
ballroom. The receiving party had forsaken their 
duties at half-past eight to mingle with their 
guests. As it was nine o’clock when Jane and 
Norma made their triumphal entry, they were 
denied the privilege of that august body’s polite 
welcome. A one-step had just ended and the 
dancers were scattered about the room in little 
groups, or walking about the polished floor in 
couples. Here and there a solitary girl rested 
on a divan or chair, with which the sides of the 
gymnasium were lined, but the majority of the 
guests preferred the entertainment of numbers. 

Now that she was actually a part of that laugh- 
ing, chatting company, Jane felt her courage 
oozing to the very toes of her gold-colored slip- 
pers. Suppose no one came near them or asked 
them to dance In her anxiety to give Norma 
pleasure she had quite forgotten her own unpopu- 
larity. Now the unhappy knowledge returned 
full force and with it the remembrance of Nor- 
ma’s humble status in college. Tossing her head 
with a sudden access of bravado, Jane determined 
that Norma should have a good time if there were 


OF THE SUB-TEAM ^ 

any possible means by which she might bring it 
to pass. 

As she stood deliberating on what should be 
her first move, a cheery voice called out: “Jane 
Allen, you old fraud! I was never more sur- 
prised in all my life.” Judith Stearns had come 
up behind her and slipped a welcoming arm 
about her waist. 

“Norma and I decided at the last minute to 
come. She’s my escort.” Jane flushed prettily 
as she made this statement. 

“You are two gorgeous creatures, and you 
positively dazzle me,” laughed Judith. “Have 
you your dance cards? I intend to have the 
honor of several dances with each of you. Wait 
a minute until I bring Ethel.” Judith glided 
away to return with Ethel Lacey, a small, rather 
stout girl with a good-natured, broadly smiling 
face. In their brief walk across the ballroom, 
Judith had instructed Ethel regarding her duty 
and the latter now expressed herself as anxious 
to dance with Norma and Jane. 

They had hardly finished scribbling their 
names on the dance cards of these latest arrivals 
when Adrienne fluttered up, looking for all the 
world like a frolicsome young imp in her smart 
gown of flame-colored silk crepe. Adrienne had 


JANE ALLEN 


i66 

spied Jane from afar and hastened to welcome 
her. To her beauty-worshipping soul, Jane’s re- 
splendent dawning upon the dance more than 
made up for her previous shortcomings. 

‘Ts it that you are really here, ma belief"^ she 
gurgled, slipping a small hand into Jane’s. “And 
you are glorious! Je vous salutf^ She made a 
low bow. “We will dance together. Is it not 
so? We shall be admired of many.” In her 
joyful excitement she had lapsed into the quaint 
phraseology of her parents. “Oh, it is of a hap- 
piness parfaitementr She clasped her mites of 
hands and revolved about the embarrassed Jane 
in a kind of slow dance. “And la petite Norma! 
She is also quite wonderful.” 

The announcing strains of a waltz checked her 
rippling flow of admiration. “I must go,” she 
pouted regretfully. “A very grand senior is to 
be my partner for this. Afterward I shall look 
for you.” 

The “very grand senior” walked up at that mo- 
ment to claim the scarlet sprite, and she floated 
away on her partner’s arm, her tiny feet seeming 
scarcely to touch the floor, her black head bobbing 
an impish farewell over her shoulder. 

Jane waited only long enough to see Norma 


OF THE SUB‘TEAM 


167 


dance off with Ethel, then with Judith as a part- 
ner she swung into the waltz. 

“How in the world did it all happen?” was 
Judith’s first speech. 

“Don’t ask me here to-night. When we get 
home I’ll tell you. But, Judy, I wish you’d 
promise me that you’ll help Norma to have a 
good time. It doesn’t matter about me. I’m 
not so much in love with all this.” 

“Of course I will,” promised Judith. She was 
wondering mightily at Jane’s astonishing change 
of view. It was the very last thing she had ex- 
pected of the girl she had so lately seen pacing 
the room like an untamed animal beating against 
the bars of captivity. 

As the evening wore away, Jane discovered 
that Judith had more than kept her word. She 
took Norma under her special eye and rallied the 
girls to the retiring sophomore’s standard, until 
that timid young person felt herself almost a 
guest of honor rather than a humble toiler whose 
duty it was to serve rather than to be served. 
Jane herself was not left to languish. Although 
she was not in favor at Madison Hall, in that 
large assemblage of students she came into con- 
tact with more than one girl who seemed disposed 
to be friendly. 


i68 


JANE ALLEN 


Once during the evening her good humor came 
very near to deserting her. As she strolled about 
the room, during an intermission, with Adrienne 
Dupree, a curious feeling that she was the subject 
of discussion drew her wandering glance to a 
group of girls gathered about the lemonade bowl. 
Her eyes encountered another pair, pale blue and 
glittering with cold animosity. They belonged 
to Marian Seaton. Her thin lips curled scorn- 
fully and she turned to whisper to Maizie Gilbert, 
who stood at her side, looming like a young moun- 
tain in her much-shirred pink silk gown. Maizie 
was considerably too stout to wear pink, but she 
was complacently unaware of that truth. Mari- 
an’s whisper brought an insolent laugh from 
Maizie that made Jane’s cheeks burn. She ex- 
perienced a wild desire to fly at them both and 
tear them to bits. Instead she looked away as 
though she had not noticed either of them. She 
would not spoil this gala night by allowing her 
dislike of Marian to trouble her. 

There was one bitter drop in her cup of pleas- 
ure, however. Dorothy Martin had appeared not 
to see her. She could hardly blame Dorothy for 
this. She was remorsefuljv conscious that she 
had treated the kindly jui. or with discourtesy. 
Still, Jane could not forgtj what she had over- 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


169 


heard in the living room. If only Dorothy had 
not spoken so patronizingly of her to Edith 
Hammond. She had actually apologized to 
Edith for inviting Jane to the hop. Poor Jane 
was extremely fond of Dorothy, or rather she 
admitted to herself that she “had been.” It was 
now a thing of the past. She could never again 
care for this deceitful girl. Yet in her heart 
she was half tempted to go to Dorothy and have 
matters out. Her indomitable pride alone held 
her aloof. 

Dorothy, on her part, was righteously indig- 
nant with Jane. She felt that she had been very 
badly treated. She was too fair-minded not to 
recognize that in bringing Norma Bennett to the 
dance Jane had, somehow, performed a miracle. 
She herself had urged Norma to take part in the 
affair, and Norma had obstinately refused to con- 
sider it. She had tearfully confided her reasons 
to Dorothy, who had generously offered her one 
of her gowns. Norma had remained adamant. 
It had been left to Jane to work the wonder. 
Dorothy was divided between admiration of 
Jane’s method of bringing about miracles and 
disapproval of hei <ald discourtesy. 

And so, while t freshmen danced their merry 
way to acquaintance with their elder sisters, two 


170 


JANE ALLEN 


young girls, so lately devoted friends, but now 
firmly entrenched in their own particular griev- 
ance, held rigidly aloof, misunderstanding and 
misunderstood. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE LURE OF BASEIET-BALL 

^ T last! Just read this, Jane.’' Judith 
Stearns’ tranquil face wore a delighted 
^ smile. The triumphant ring in her voice 
indicated that her cursory glance at the bulletin 
board had furnished her with a piece of valuable 
information. 

“What is it?” Jane turned half impatiently 
and walked back to where Judith stood in rapt 
perusal of a notice, typed in capitals, and flaunt- 
ing itself conspicuously at the top of the board. 

What the daily press is to a news-hungry pub- 
lic, the bulletin board becomes to the college girl. 
By means of its kindly legion of notices she is 
able to keep in direct touch with the doings of her 
limited world. Many and varied are the bits of 
information gleaned from its daily array of no- 
tices of which she would otherwise remain ig- 
norant. 


172 


JANE ALLEN 


To Judith the faithful perusal of this treasure 
trove, situated just inside the entrance to Wel- 
lington Hall, had become a fixed habit. Quite 
to the contrary, Jane seldom deigned to glance 
at it. Whatever it held of interest she was sure 
to learn from Judith’s obliging lips. Still par- 
tially indifferent to what went on about her, Jane 
regarded it as a tiresome succession of college 
club and society notices, with an occasional 
“Lost” or “Found” thrown in by way of reliev- 
ing its monotony. Now, as her eyes followed 
Judith’s indicating finger, she was not thrilled 
to read that a try-out for basket-ball, to be held 
with a view to the making of the freshman team, 
was scheduled to take place in the gymnasium at 
half -past four o’clock on Friday afternoon. 

“I’ve been waiting for this,” rejoiced Judith. 
“Dorothy Martin said that the team is usually 
made soon after the freshman class election. This 
year there was an argument among the sopho- 
mores about basket-ball. They happen to be the 
smallest class for a number of years, and most 
of them weren’t in favor of the good old game.” 

“What difference need that make to the fresh- 
men?” asked Jane indifferently. “Can’t they 
play without the sophomores?” Jane had not 
the slightest knowledge of basket-ball, nor did 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


173 


she yearn to become familiar with its intricacies. . 

'‘Of course they can,” nodded Judith, “but it 
wouldn’t be much fun. If the sophomores had 
decided to drop basket-ball this year — thank for- 
tune they didn’t — the freshmen could have made 
up two teams among themselves, and one team 
could have played against the other. That’s all 
very well in practice games, but there’s no special 
glory in it. A picked team needs real opposition. 
That’s the reason they challenge the sophomores. 
If they can beat them, it’s a decided feather in 
the freshman cap.” 

“Can’t the freshmen challenge the juniors or 
seniors?” Jane had now become mildly inter- 
ested. Hitherto, basket-ball had occupied small 
place in her thoughts. The idea of contest ap- 
pealed to her, however. 

“They have never done so at Wellington, so 
I’ve been told,” returned Judith. “When one 
reaches junior estate a great many other things 
crowd basket-ball out. Whenever there has been 
a junior team, the members of it have never con- 
descended to go below the sophomores. As I’m 
a rabid basket-ball enthusiast, I’ve taken pains 
to gather all this information. The seniors 
hardly ever play, although they are useful as 
referees, time-keepers, etc. It really rests with 


174 


JANE ALLEN 


the freshmen and sophomores to keep basket-ball 
alive. While Miss Winslow was dean, she didn’t 
encourage the noble sport, but Miss Rutledge is 
quite different. She’s from California, you 
know, and believes that girls ought to be inter- 
ested in college sports. You must go to the try- 
out with me, then you’ll understand why I like 
to play basket-ball. I hope I’ll make the team. 
I shall try my hardest.” 

“I don’t believe I care to go. If it is anything 
like the class election was, deliver me from it.” 
Jane frowned at the memory of the recent fresh- 
man election of officers. It had taken place 
directly after the dance and had been a far from 
peaceful affair. A number of freshmen had ener- 
getically electioneered for Marian Seaton for 
class president. She had lost the office by a large 
majority in favor of Barbara Temple, a most 
popular freshman at Argyle Hall, and the de- 
feated electioneers had accepted their defeat with 
anything but good grace. There had also been 
considerable petty wrangling over the other ofB- 
ces. Afterward Jane had returned to Madison 
Hall distinctly disgusted with the whole affair. 
It had been a matter of satisfaction to her, how- 
ever, to know that the disagreeable Marian 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


175 


Seaton had not gained the high office she had so 
greatly coveted. 

‘‘Oh, it won’t be like that” Judith hastened to 
assure her. “The team is to be picked. Those 
who are anxious to play are to be tried out on the 
floor. It’s quite exciting. Please promise you’ll 
go. If you aren’t interested, then you needn’t go 
to the practice games.” 

“All right. I’ll go, Judy,” promised Jane. “If 
I don’t find it interesting, I won’t even stay to 
see it through.” 

“You’ll stay. See if you don’t,” predicted 
Judith. “I hope Dorothy Martin will be one of 
the deciding committee. One can depend on fair 
treatment from her.” 

“Aren’t the judges fair?” Jane smiled rather 
cynically. She was not surprised at Judith’s re- 
mark. The majority of the girls she had em 
countered at Wellington had proved themselves 
anything but fair in their treatment of their fel- 
low students. Privately she included Dorothy 
among them. Dorothy had been most unfair to 
her, at least. 

“It’s not quite loyal to say they aren’t,” Judith 
amended. “.Yet sometimes they show favoritism. 
Not here, perhaps. When I was at Morrison, 
the prep, school I attended before I came here. 


176 


JANE ALLEN 


there was a great deal of that sort of thing. I 
nearly missed a chance to play in a big game 
because the physical culture instructor didn’t 
like me. She found fault with my passing, and 
tried to put another girl, a pet of hers, in my 
place. The rest of the team made such a fuss, 
she finally let the matter drop. But if the team 
hadn’t backed me, you can see where Judy would 
have landed.” 

“How could she be so despicable!” exclaimed 
Jane. “That’s the chief reason I’ve never cared 
much for girls. Most of them are disloyal.” 

“Oh, no, they aren’t. It’s just the other way. 
Ninety per cent of them are true blue. It’s the 
other ten per cent that make loyal ones appear 
under false colors. I’m very fond of most of the 
girls I know. Some day you will feel the same 
about the girls here.” 

“I doubt it.” Jane shrugged her shoulders 
with the air of a misanthrope. 

During the week, however, she heard so much 
of basket-ball that she began to wonder if, after 
all, it might not prove worthy of passing atten- 
tion. The subject appeared to be on everyone’s 
tongue. She heard snatches of it during recita- 
tion hours and still more of it at Madison Hall. 
Although the Hall was not strictly a freshman 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


177 


house, owing to the large number of vacancies 
due to the graduation of last year’s seniors, these 
vacancies had been quickly filled by entering 
freshmen. Of the thirty-six girls who dwelt in 
it, not more than ten of that number were upper 
class. 

Even vivacious little Adrienne Dupree had 
caught basket-ball fever. Delighting in anything 
that promised activity, she had calmly announced 
her intention of taking part in the try-out. At 
table she daily besieged Dorothy Martin with 
eager questions concerning the rules of basket- 
ball. She enveigled Judith Stearns and good- 
natured Ethel Lacey into going with her to the 
gymnasium, there to furnish a course of instruc- 
tion in the various mysteries of the game. She 
soon mastered the main points and delighted her 
willing teachers with her lithe, cat-like move- 
ments and fleetness of foot. “But indeed I am 
not so slow,” she would complacently remark, 
after performing some particularly agile feat. 
“Perhaps it is I who will be chosen to play on 
the great team.” 

While at meals, Adrienne entertained Dorothy 
with a voluble flow of chatter concerning her am- 
bitions, but to Jane, the three short periods of 
time she spent daily at table were absolutely 


178 


JANE ALLEN 


painful. She had not minded being on the outs 
with Edith Hammond. With Dorothy and Adri- 
enne as staunch supporters, Edith’s barbed 
shafts were seldom returned. Jane could afford 
to overlook them. Since Dorothy had turned 
against her, as Jane obstinately chose to believe 
was the case, she felt extremely ill at ease when in 
her presence. To be sure, she and Jane ex- 
changed civilities, but that was all. There were 
no more pleasant talks; no more riding lessons; 
no more friendly bailings when they chanced to 
meet outside the Hall. 

Adrienne and Edith were alike curious re- 
garding Jane’s grievance against Dorothy. The 
former longed to question both interested parties, 
but being an extremely wise child, she held her 
tongue. Jane had rebuffed her for presuming 
to inquire into her reasons for not attending the 
freshman dance. As she was really fond of this 
strange girl, she did not yearn to introduce a 
subject that might result in sharp words between 
them. As for Dorothy, Adrienne felt that she 
would as soon inquire into the personal affairs 
of Miss Rutledge as to cross-question this stately 
junior. 

Edith entertained no such awe of Dorothy. 
Aware that something had gone wrong, she had 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


179 


button-holed Dorothy for a confidential talk at 
the first opportunity that presented itself, follow- 
ing Jane’s refusal of the junior’s invitation. To 
her first sneering speech, “It is evident that your 
dear Miss Allen doesn’t appreciate your kind- 
ness, Dot,” Dorothy had endeavored to silence 
her with, “I do not wish to discuss Jane with 
you, Edith.” But Edith had persisted until in 
sheer vexation Dorothy had cried out: “I haven’t 
the slightest idea why Jane refused my invita- 
tion. If I had, I would not tell you. Will you 
please be kind enough to drop the subject?” 

From Norma Bennett, Dorothy had ascer- 
tained the details of the generous part Jane had 
played on the evening of the hop. Knowing 
Norma to be fhe soul of discretion, she had ven- 
tured to tell her of Jane’s refusal, in the hope 
that Norma might be able to throw light on that 
which was still a mystery to her. Norma could 
offer no solution. During that happy time of 
preparation for the dance, Jane had discussed no 
one. Norma did relate, however, the incident of 
the portrait, causing Dorothy to experience the 
desire to batter down the wall between herself 
and the proud girl she had* grown to love so 
dearly. On reflection she decided it would not 
be best. Jane had erected the barrier, therefore 


i8o 


JANE ALLEN 


it was incumbent on her to do away with it. Time 
alone could teach the perverse freshman that, 
once given, true friendship was a gift to be cher- 
ished, not abused. 

When, at a little past four on Friday after- 
noon, Jane and Judith entered the gymnasium, 
they found an excited bevy of bloomer-clad 
freshmen already on the scene, industriously at 
work with the ball. The four sides of the large 
room were thickly sprinkled with spectators from 
all the classes, who had come to see what the 
freshmen could do. The sophomore team had 
already been organized. They were grouped to- 
gether intently watching the players and com- 
menting on their respective merits. 

“Wait here for me,” directed Judith. ‘T*m 
going to the dressing quarters to get into my 
regalia. I’ll come back to you as soon as I’m 
togged for action.” She had already donned her 
rubber-soled canvas shoes, and as she trotted 
across the room, her basket-ball suit swinging on 
one arm, J ane almost wished that she, too, could 
get into a like costume and run about the wide 
stretch of floor after the ball. Contrary to expec- 
tation, she was decidedly interested. She had 
not thought basket-ball would be like this. 
Judith had just returned and stood explaining 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


i8i 


to Jane the meaning of the various maneuvers 
the players were making, when a shrill whistle, 
blown by an imposing senior who wore eye- 
glasses, sent the active figures scurrying off the 
floor to the place reserved for them. The try-out 
was about to begin. 

While she stood eagerly viewing the spirited 
play, Jane had identified at least three of the 
contestants. They were Adrienne, Marian Sea- 
ton and Alicia Reynolds. She also noted, when 
the judges took their station at a point in the 
room where they could best observe what went 
on, that Dorothy Martin was one of them. She 
now remembered that Judith had said that Doro- 
thy was to serve in that capacity. The other two 
young women, seniors, she did not know. 

As over half of the freshman class had designs 
on team membership, they were quickly divided 
into squads of five, and set to work, two squads 
at a time, the one to play against the other; 

Jane thrilled with excitement as she heard the 
screech of the warning whistle and saw the ball 
put into play. After ten minutes’ hard work, the 
players were called off the floor, to be replaced 
by a second ambitious ten. Altogether, thirty 
girls were tried out, while the selecting commit- 
tee put their heads together and noted on paper 


i 82 


JANE ALLEN 


the most promising aspirants. These were finally 
sifted down to ten names, the owners of which 
formed two squads and strove against each other. 
Jane smiled with delight to see Judith and Ad- 
rienne among the favored ten. She frowned with 
disgust to find Marian Seaton and Alicia Reyn- 
olds also of that number. 

When, after twenty minutes’ desperate en- 
deavor, the ten girls ran off to their corner, the 
judges consulted afresh, amid a loud buzzing of 
conversation on the part of the spectators. A 
hush fell upon the room at the sound of the 
whistle for silence. That meant that the fresh- 
man team had been selected and the names of the 
lucky members were to be announced. 

It was one of the seniors who made the an- 
nouncement. After a polite little speech which 
was intended as a consolation for the disap- 
pointed who had failed to play up to the de- 
manded standard, she read out the names. Judith 
Stearns, Adrienne Dupree, Alicia Reynolds, 
Marian Seaton and Christine Ellis, an Argyle 
Hall girl, had been chosen to play on the official 
freshman team. Five other girls had been se- 
lected to play on a practice team and act as sub- 
stitutes. J ane knew them, merely by sight. 

A moment after the announcement, which was 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


received with some applause, Adrienne pranced 
up to Jane, looking like a frolicsome young sprite 
in her dark blue bloomer suit. “For me it is 
indeed the great joy that I, poor, small Adrienne, 
have been chosen,” she gurgled. “Tell me, most 
serious one, how does my costume become me? I 
had it fashioned in the great hurry, by a most 
stupid dressmaker, who waited long to finish it. 
It is most comfortable in which to dance.” She 
pirouetted gaily about Jane, keeping up a ripple 
of quaint remarks. “But you have not yet said 
how I look.” She paused and fixed Jane with an 
expression of mock reproach. 

“You look exactly like a tiny young imp,” 
laughed Judith Stearns, who had come up in 
time to hear Adrienne’s latest remark. 

“You are of a truth droll, Judy,” she giggled. 
“You have at last guessed the name that mon 
pere loves to call me. At home, I am the great 
Imp. So you and Jane shall thus call me, if you 
wish. It is the pet name and I adore it. Com- 
prenez vous?” 

''Oui, ma chefe enfant/' returned Jane, her 
gloomy face lighting at the little girl’s merry talk. 
""Vous etes vraiment le petit drole/' 

^"Je VQus ador. Vous parlez ma belle langue/' 
Adrienne patted her hand. 


184 


JANE ALLEN 


“I wish I could speak French as well as J ane 
does,” said Judith rather wistfully. “It’s awfully 
hard for me. I can never remember the verbs.” 

“I wish I could play basket-ball like you and 
Adrienne,” was Jane’s astonishing retort. 

“What do I hear?” Judith’s lifted brows in- 
dicated her surprise. “Didn’t I tell you you’d 
like the dear old game?” 

“I do like it.” Jane flushed as she made this 
confession. “I’d give half my kingdom to be on 
the freshman team. Of course I know that I 
never will be. But just the same, I’m going to 
learn to play, if only to please myself.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


HELPING jane’s CAUSE ALONG 

W HEREAS basket-ball had at first been 
a matter of indifference to Jane, it now 
became a delightful obsession. Here 
was a phase of college life which she was quite 
willing to embrace. Reared to the activity of 
the ranch, the conventional monotony of her sur- 
roundings irked her beyond measure. Aside from 
her reckless gallops across country on Firefly, she 
had no other outlet for her stored-up energy. 
Basket-ball promised to supply a long-felt need. 

I Still she could not play the game alone, and there 
' seemed small prospect of being asked to serve 
I even on a practice team. 

; When she had enrolled as a student of Wel- 
j lington College, Jane had not wished to become, 
! friendly with any of her fellow-students. She 
had deliberately built up a wall between herself 
185 


i86 


JANE ALLEN 


and them. Now she wished she had not been in 
such a hurry to condemn them as scarcely worth 
her consideration. It was hard indeed to find^ 
herself a comparative outsider, especially since 
she had discovered that it prevented her from 
taking part in the sport which had so signally 
aroused her enthusiasm. 

True, she was not entirely without friends. 
Adrienne, Judith, Norma Bennett and Ethel 
Lacey had become really dear to her. She had 
never believed that she could become so entirely 
at home in the society of girls. Hardly a day 
passed without bringing forth some new proof of 
their regard for her. She and Judith now fre- 
quently studied their lessons in company with 
Adrienne and Ethel, Norma Bennett often mak- 
ing a fifth. Jane was secretly amazed at the 
amount of good cheer that was to be extracted 
from a chafing dish. Judith was past master of 
the art of fudge-making, while Adrienne, true 
child of France, knew how to concoct a variety 
of appetizing dishes, which could be prepared in 
this same useful article, so dear to the heart of 
the school girl. 

“We ought to have a stunt party, Jane,” re- 
marked Judith casually, one evening in early 
November. “IVe been entertained by quite a 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


187 


number of the girls outside the Hall, and I’d love 
to make some return.” Judith spoke with her 
usual placidity, but inwardly she was far from 
being calm. She was not sure that Jane would 
look upon the proposal with favor. Of an ex- 
tremely sociable disposition, Judith had hitherto 
refrained from inviting a number of her friends 
to her room for a jollification, for fear of dis- 
pleasing her roommate. 

“What is a stunt party?” Jane looked up 
from her book, a curious gleam in her gray eyes. 

“Oh, it’s a sort of social session.” Judith was 
relieved to observe that Jane was not frowning. 
“Everyone who comes has to do a stunt. Sing, 
or recite, or dance. Perhaps tell an interesting 
story. Then we have eats, of course, and every- 
body goes home happy at the very last minute 
before the ten-thirty bell. Eight girls will be 
i about as many as this room will comfortably 
hold. If we have too many, it won’t be so much 
fun. Let me see. There are Adrienne and 
Ethel, Norma of course, Mary Ashton, Barbara 
Temple, Christine Ellis, you and I. If it weren’t 
for Marian Seaton and Alicia Reynolds, I’d 
invite the girls of the freshman team on another 
i evening, but those two dear creatures make it 
quite out of the question, I’d as soon think of 


i88 


JANE ALLEN 


inviting a snapping turtle, or a nice wriggly 
snake, as either of them.’' Judith giggled cheer- 
fully as she made this unflattering comparison. 

‘‘The idea of a stunt party sounds interesting.” 
Jane wagged her head in serious approval of 
Judith’s plan. “Speaking of snakes,” she went 
on slowly, “that reminds me of something that 
happened to me just before I came east to Wel- 
lington. It was on my last day at home. I went 
for a long ride. All the time I kept wishing that 
I might be^ given some last lucky sign to show 
that all would go well for me this year. It came, 
but in the form of a huge rattlesnake. Very 
lucky, wasn’t it? At any rate, I killed it. I re- 
membered then that snakes meant enemies. So 
you see it was a true omen,” ended Jane bitterly. 

“How strange!” Judith’s eyes had grown 
round with wonder as she listened to Jane’s re- 
cital. “If you were brave enough to kill a great, 
horrible rattlesnake, you are certainly brave 
enough to conquer your enemies. I couldn’t kill 
even a garter snake.” Judith shuddered at the 
bare idea of dispatching even this harmless vari- 
ety of reptile. 

“I’ve killed lots of rattlesnakes,” returned 
Jane. “They’re a common sight out West, but 
so far I’ve made plenty of enemies, and haven’t 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


189 


conquered one of them. I never thought I’d care 

about ” J ane hesitated. “About girls,” she 

went on slowly. “Perhaps I wouldn’t, even yet, 
if I had not found such nice friends as you and 
Adrienne and Ethel. What I do care a lot about 
is basket-ball. I’d love to be on a team, Judy, 
even if it were only a scrub team.” Jane made 
this confession rather shame-facedly. 

“I understand.” Judith struggled to keep the 
surprise she felt out of her voice. Proud, re- 
served Jane Allen had at last come to her senses. 
She wished to be liked, in order that she might 
play basket-ball, and she was making an indirect 
appeal to Judith to help her to that end. It was 
the nearest approach to a favor that she had ever 
asked. Judith wondered how she might best 
serve her roommate. Then she reflected that the 
stunt party might do much toward helping Jane’s 
cause along. She and Christine were on the 
regular team, while Barbara Temple captained 
the practice squad against which the picked team 
had been playing. 

“Wait until the night of the stunt party,” she 
now counseled. “I’ll casually introduce the sub- 
ject to the girls. Barbara told me yesterday that 
Lillian Barrows was ill and might not be able to 
play for a week or so. Perhaps you might take 


190 


JANE ALLEN 


her place on the practice team. I forgot, though. 
You don’t know much about the game. That’s 
too bad. You’d have to work on a scrub team 
first. The practice team has to do really fast 
playing.” 

“But I do know the game!” Jane’s tones car- 
ried repressed excitement. “I sent for an official 
guide book on basket-ball the day after the try- 
out. I’ve been studying it ever since it came. I 
know every point. All I ask is a chance to play. 
I’m so sorry I didn’t go to the gym with you 
girls when you were teaching Adrienne. Then I 
could have tried to make the team, too. It’s my 
own fault.” Jane frowned darkly. 

“Never mind,” comforted Judith. “There’s no 
use in worrying over that now. What you must 
do is to try to get a chance to play on the practice 
team. If you become a star player and anything 
were to happen to one of the regular team, you 
might be asked to play in her place. Of course, 
that’s all very indefinite. Still, it wouldn’t do any 
harm to work and get ready. The date for the 
big game hasn’t been set. Very likely it will be 
played early in December. Dorothy Martin told 
me the other day that there was some talk of 
holding a series of games between the freshmen 
and sophomores for a pennant. That would be 


i 


I 

! 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


121 

lots of fun and wildly exciting. It would keep 
basket-ball to the front all year.” 

“I don’t expect to have a chance to play on 
the regular team this year.” Jane spoke very 
humbly. “Besides it wouldn’t be right for me 
even to dream of it when it would mean sup- 
planting one of the regular girls.” For all her 
moods, Jane had the virtue of being strictly hon- 
orable even in thought. 

“But suppose one of us were suddenly taken 
ill or had to go home,” argued Judith. “You’d 
have a perfect right to substitute, if your playing 
warranted it. As long as you like basket-ball so 
much, go in and learn it for all you’re worth. 
Don’t bother to think about what might happen. 
Just be ready. If your chance should come, take 
it. If not, then you’ll be in line for next year’s 
team. But there is one thing you will have to do, 
if you hope to make good on any team.” Judith 
paused and eyed Jane significantly. 

“I know.” Jane colored hotly. “You needn’t 
say it. I’ll try, Judy; truly I will.” 

“There’s something else you ought to do,” pur- 
sued Judith relentlessly. 

“What do you mean?” Jane’s sharp question 
indicated that there were several things Judith 
might mean. 


192 


JANE ALLEN 


“You ought to square yourself with Dorothy 
Martin. I’m not saying that because I wish to 
pry into your affairs,” apologized Judith. “You j 
really need Dorothy’s friendship. You two were 
such good comrades. Then, too, Dorothy is such 
a splendid girl and could help you in so many 
ways.” 

“I don’t wish Dorothy Martin’s help.” Jane 
shook her head with stubborn decision. “I can 
get along very well without it.” She had no in- 
tention of taking even Judith into her confidence 
concerning her grievance against Dorothy. 
Neither would she admit how greatly she missed | 
the latter’s inspiring companionship. If there j 
were any question as to which of them should sue 
for peace, she would never be the suppliant. 
Dorothy had done her a wrong, therefore Doro- j 
thy alone could right it. j 

Realizing that though she had made her first 
point she had failed to make the second, Judith ’ 

wisely dropped the subject and began to plan i 

cheerfully for the stunt party. “We’d better ; 
give it on next Monday night,” she decided. | 
“I’ll have my allowance money by that time. i 
That’s a very necessary thing when it comes to ; 
giving a party.” \ 

“I have plenty of money,” reminded Jane. “I ' 


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193 


haven’t yet spent half of my last check. There’s 
nothing much to spend money for here.” 

‘T wish I could say that,” sighed Judith. “My 
check looks like a good deal of money when I 
first see it. But after it’s cashed it simply melts 
like snow in the sun.” 

“That’s because you can find so many ways to 
spend it. You’re a social success, Judy, and I’m 
not.” 

“You could be if you would,” declared Judith 
staunchly. 

Jane merely shook her head in mute contra- 
diction. She had not Judith’s ability for making 
friends. 

As the week wore away, however, she found 
herself looking forward to Friday night with con- 
siderable anticipation. Judith had decreed that 
the affair must be a stunt party. She had al- 
ready announced that her contribution to the af- 
fair would be a funny little monologue she had 
once given at a stunt party while at Morrison 
Preparatory School. Jane racked her brain for 
a stunt suitable to the occasion. Finally she hit 
upon an idea that seemed feasible, and after a 
visit to her trunk, laid her plan before Judith. 
The latter was in raptures over it. She forth- 
with lost no time in informing the guests that a 


194 


JANE ALLEN 


costume party was in order and that no one could 
hope to gain admittance to the festal chamber 
unless properly conforming to her edict. 

For the first time Jane began to experience 
the feeling of delight with which a girl looks for- 
ward to her first party. Never before had she 
been active in bringing about an affair of the 
kind which the coming Friday promised. The 
few hops she had attended at various Western | 
summer resorts in company with her Aunt Mary I 
had invariably bored her. True, she had in a 
measure enjoyed herself at the freshman dance. 
The stunt party, however, was to be quite dif- 
ferent from any other she had ever attended. 
And it was her suggestion to Judith that had in- i 
spired at least one feature of it. Jane could not 
help being a trifie pleased over this. At heart 
she was just as eager for simple, wholesome en- j 
tertainment as any other girl of her age. She , 
suspected this dimly, but nothing could have in- 'i 
duced her to say so to Judith. Although she 
could not then know it, her restless longing for ^ 
variety was destined to one day make her a bril- 
liant leader whose name was to be set down on the 
honor roll of Wellington’s brightest and best. 
But it was alike decreed that she should not reach 
this height until the last battle against self should 
be fought and won. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE STUNT PARTY 


T half -past seven o’clock on Monday eve- 



ning, two gaily attired damsels, quite 


^ foreign in appearance to their usual 
everyday selves, stole cat-footed down the hall 
and were admitted to Judith’s room amid much 
stifled laughter. They were received by an awe- 
inspiring person whose huge, shell-rimmed 
glasses and severe mannish attire proclaimed to 
them that a reformer of no mean pretensions had 
condescended to grace the scene. 

Attired in plain black skirt, topped by Jane’s 
black riding coat, this particular disciple of re- 
form wajs distinctly imposing. The coat was ar- 
tistically thrown open to disclose a marvelous 
expanse of white pleated shirt front. With a 
stand-up collar and black bow tie, her brown hair 
dragged upward into a tortured knot, until the 


196 


JANE ALLEN 


corners of her blue eyes fairly seemed to follow 
that upward slant, Judith was a sight to behold. 
Beside her stood a ferocious Indian chief, whose 
feathered headdress and formidable tomahawk 
might well have proclaimed him to be one of the 
immortal redskins of Fenimore Cooper lore, ex- 
cept that these fabled warriors were not recorded 
to possess luminous gray eyes and femininely 
regular features. 

“How!” grunted the warrior, in polite wel- 
come as a fiuffy-skirted premiere of the ballet 
seized his august hand and gurgled her fluent 
French admiration of him. 

“Ladies, be seated,” invited the reformer’s dig- 
nified voice. “The worst, I mean the rest, is yet 
to come.” This information trailed off into a 
most un-reformer-like giggle. 

“Judy Stearns, you are the funniest thing I 
ever saw.” Ethel Lacey, transformed for the 
time being into a broadly-smiling gypsy, a violin 
tucked under her arm, accepted the invitation to 
sit and broke into a fresh burst of chuckles which 
had begun the moment she spied Judith. “As 
for Jane, she looks fierce enough to tomahawk a 
whole settlement.” 

“Ah, but she is le grand sauvageT exclaimed 
Adrienne. “But hark! Someone knocks.” 


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197 


Judith hurried to the door to admit two 
raincoated figures, their heads discreetly scarf- 
wrapped. Divested of their coats and scarfs, a 
golden-haired Dresden shepherdess and an ele- 
gant Turkish-trousered lady, with a flowing, 
rippling veil, burst upon the scene. On the cam- 
pus they were known respectively as Christine 
Ellis and Barbara Temple, but for to-night they 
had sunk their identities to play the favorite 
childhood game of ‘‘dressing up.” 

They were welcomed with due ceremony and 
had hardly begun to take stock of their com- 
panions when a timid rapping at the door an- 
nounced the arrival of another guest. 

A ripple of approbation swept the little com- 
pany as a black clad figure of princely mien 
stepped across the threshold. Was it really 
Norma Bennett who had entered, or had Hamlet, 
the ill-starred Prince of Denmark, suddenly 
come to life? Norma had copied her costume, so 
far as she was able, from one she had seen in a 
picture. Though of common black cambric, she 
had fashioned it so cleverly that the material was 
forgotten in the general effect. Long black 
stockings and flat-heeled slippers, an old circular 
cape she had discovered hanging in the back hall 
and a quaint cap of her own making helped to 


198 


JANE ALLEN 


carry out the representation. Around her neck 
hung a heavy silver chain that had been her 
mother’s. The crowning glory of her costume, 
however, was a wide flat-linked metal belt from 
which depended a sheathed short sword. 

“For goodness’ sake, Norma Bennett, wherever 
did you manage to lay hands on that belt and 
sword?” Judith forgot her dignity as she called 
out her eager question. 

“Isn’t it splendid?” The melancholy look on 
Norma’s face, which went so completely with her 
representation, vanished in a pleased smile. 
“You’ll laugh when I tell you. Sarah, the cook, 
lent it to me.” 

“She looks flerce enough to harbor such deadly 
weapons,” laughed Ethel. “I can’t imagine them 
being of this ancient type, though.” 

“It was used long ago by some of the girls here 
who gave ‘Hamlet’ for their own amusement,” 
explained Norma. “The girl who owned the belt 
and sword was a senior. After she was gradu- 
ated and left the Hall, it was found hanging in 
her closet. She never sent for it and it was put 
in the storeroom. When I told Sarah about my 
costume, she remembered it and got it for me. 
Wasn’t I lucky? It was the one thing needed 
to complete poor Hamlet.” 


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199 


“But la petite Norma is indeed as the real 
Hamlet!” admired Adrienne. “She has the sad 
eyes, the bearing of le pauvre Prince of Den- 
mark.” 

“She has indeed,” echoed Jane warmly. She 
was secretly wondering at Norma’s ability to do 
so much with so little. 

“Now that Hamlet is with us, there is only one 
distinguished personage missing,” said Ethel. 
“She’s commonly known as Mary Ashton, but 
who knows who she may be to-night?” 

“There she is now!” cried Barbara Temple as 
a knock sounded on the door. 

A quaint Japanese person in a gorgeous flow- 
ered silk kimono and obi sidled into their midst, 
giggling deliciously behind her fluttering fan. 
With her straight, high-coiffured black hair and 
heavy-browed black eyes, Mary Ashton might 
well have stepped off the painted fan she flut- 
tered. 

“Now I’ll put up the ‘Busy’ sign,” announced 
Judith with a relieved sigh. After triumphantly 
bolting the door she proceeded to climb on a chair 
and hang her striped bed cover over it, fastening 
it with several brass-headed tacks. “There!” she 
exclaimed. “This is a strictly private affair. If 
some of the girls And out what’s going on they 


200 


JANE ALLEN 


may be tempted to take a bird’s-eye squint 
through the keyhole. I wish I knew where the 
key is. Anyway, the bolt will keep out intruders 
and the curtain will deaden the sounds of revelry 
within. It’s a good thing for us that this is an 
end room.” 

Reassuming the judicial air she had for the 
moment dropped, she began in a deep voice: 
“Distinguished friends, we welcome you to our 
humble cot. What is your pleasure? Don’t all 
speak at once. Our watchword to-night must be 
the greatest enjoyment with the least noise. In- 
dividual stunts are not included in this, but con- 
cert acclamation must be gentle and ladylike.” 

“Let’s have a grand looking-over first, then 
do our stunts,” proposed Mary Ashton. “The 
earlier we get them out of the way, the better it 
will be for us. Afterward, if our gracious host- 
esses have kindly remembered that we are human 
and very fond of eating, we can settle down to 
food and not be so noisy. You know how quiet 
descends around here after nine-thirty.” 

“That’s wise advice from a mere Oriental,” 
laughed Judith. “Go ahead, children, and stare 
one another out of countenance.” 

The strangely assorted company proceeded to 
carry out Judith’s invitation, accompanying the 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


201 


looking-over with frequent bursts of laughter and 
much explaining as to costumes. While they 
were thus engaged Judith and Jane busied them- 
selves in lining up the chairs at one end of the 
room, with a view to allowing as much space as 
possible for the performance of the stunts. 

“If you will kindly seat yourselves, the show 
will now begin,” announced Judith. “The nois- 
iest artiste will please hold forth first.” 

“That will perhaps be I,” concluded Adrienne. 
“I shall perform the steps of the ballet, while my 
clever Ethel shall make the music. Of a truth, I 
dance lightly, but the voice of the violin is of 
some noise. Still we have practiced in our room 
and no one has noticed.” 

“We shall be pleased to witness the dance,” 
boomed Judith, inclining her maltreated head 
toward Adrienne with wooden graciousness. 

Ethel obediently tucked her violin under her 
chin, drew the bow across the strings in a soft 
chord, then began the beautiful ballet music from 
'“Le Cid.” Adrienne pirouetted gracefully into 
the open space on her toes. Pausing for an in- 
stant, like a white butterfly about to take flight, 
she began an exhibition of terpischorean art that 
held her watchers fairly breathless with wonder- 
ing admiration. Back and forth she floated. 


202 


JANE ALLEN 


whirling, bending, swaying, her tiny feet appear- 
ing scarcely to touch the floor. To the entranced 
watchers she seemed a direct importation from 
fairyland, allowed for a brief season to leave her 
beautiful realm of fancy and show herself 
among mortals. It was not her dancing which 
so strongly conveyed this idea to them. The 
little girl’s elfish personality had more to do with 
producing the illusion. 

Concluding her remarkable exhibition with a 
peculiar leaping run on her toes, her slender arms 
outstretched as though she had at last actually 
taken wing, Adrienne dropped gracefully into 
her chair. ‘Tt is not then so easy to dance on the 
carpet,” she murmured plaintively. 

“Did you dance?” inquired Jane soberly. “It 
seemed to me that you flew.” 

“Ah, that is quite the sweet compliment.” Ad- 
rienne dimpled with pleasure. Her further 
speech was drowned in a buzz of warm approval 
from the others. The tiny danseuse garnered 
admiration from all sides at once. 

“It is too much !” She raised two prettily pro- 
testing hands. “Would that you might see ma 
mere! Little Adrienne must then of a necessity 
be forgotten.” 

“No one could forget your dancing,” smiled 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


203 


Barbara Temple. ‘T wish you’d do it all over 
again.” 

“But no, there is yet much to be done,” re- 
minded Adrienne modestly. “Let us hurry on 
to another of the stunts. Who has yet one of 
some noise to give?” She glanced inquiringly 
about. 

“You’d better do yours next, Jane,” advised 
J udith. “It’s not exactly quiet.” 

“Very well.” Outwardly composed, Jane 
stalked to the center of the room. She was in- 
wardly quaking, however, at facing at least three 
girls whom she hardly knew. Posing for a brief 
second, she began a curious, sing-song chant and 
swung into one of the weird dances she had 
learned from seeing them performed by the In- 
dians on a reservation not far from El Capitan. 
Gradually warming to her work, she left her 
present surroundings behind, seeing only the 
grotesque figures of the painted dancers gyrat- 
ing madly in the moonlight of a perfect Western 
night. 

The last eerie, wavering note of the chant 
brought her back to a knowledge of where she 
was. “That’s all,” she stammered somewhat con- 
fusedly and made a dive for the chair on which 
she had been sitting when the stunts began. She 


204 


JANE ALLEN 


was, therefore, quite unprepared for the ovation 
she received. She had not reckoned that her 
stunt would elicit much applause. All her life 
she had seen Indians dance, and thought little 
of it. 

Mary Ashton next toddled to the front and 
sang a Japanese song of several verses, accom- 
panying it with much graceful fan play. 

“Where in the world did you ever learn all 
that Japanese, Mary?” wondered Christine when 
Mary had finished singing and been duly praised. 

Mary giggled. “You had no idea I could 
speak Japanese, now had you? I’m sorry to in- 
form you that I can’t.” 

“Then who taught you that song?” demanded j 
Christine. 

“I made it up,” confessed Mary. “I’m ex- 
travagantly proud of it, though. It sounds like ■ 
the real thing.” She beamed cheerfully. • || 

“You ridiculous fraud! I might have known | 
it.” Christine looked supremely disgusted. } 

“I’m anything but a fraud,” contested Mary. ; 
“I never told you it ivas a Japanese song. I’m 
not to blame if you took it for one. I think I 
deserve a great deal of credit for making it up. 

It took me a whole evening to learn it, too.” 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


205 


“Did you make up the tune, too?” teased Bar- 
bara. 

“No, I borrowed that from a song I used to 
sing in my grammar school days. I decided on 
my tune first, and then made up the words to 
fit. I’m sorry I can’t translate them, but unfor- 
tunately I haven’t the least idea what it’s all 
about.” Mary’s infectious giggle went the round 
of the party. 

“You’re next, Barbara,” stated Judith. “We 
must on with the stunts or we’ll not have time 
for the eats.” 

Barbara’s contribution to the affair was also in 
the nature of a dance. It was a slow, stately 
affair of many postures, and she used her long 
veil with graceful effect. She had seen a similar 
dance performed by a famous Oriental dancer 
and had been so taken with it that she had after- 
ward tried to imitate it, as far as her memory 
would allow, with the idea of some time using it 
at a stunt party. 

Christine Ellis followed her with a clever 
monologue, depicting the coming to life of a 
Dresden shepherdess who had grown weary of 
being merely an ornament and decided to walk 
about after the household had gone to rest for 
the night. Her stiff-legged imitation of the re- 


206 


JANE ALLEN 


bellious shepherdess, who after standing still all 
her life found walking a difficult matter, was 
funny in the extreme, and her song, “It’s no fun 
being a Shepherdess,” which she warbled in a 
high, delicate little voice, supposedly belonging 
to a lady of such ornamental pretensions, sent 
the girls into muffied shrieks of mirth. 

“You are all star performers,” lauded Judith, 
when Christine had finally subsided after being 
obliged to sing her song twice. “Now, Norma.” 

“Mine isn’t much of a stunt,” demurred Norma 
as she advanced rather reluctantly to the center 
of the impromptu stage. Rather hesitatingly she 
began Hamlet’s melancholy solioquy, but she had 
not proceeded far before her hearers realized that 
they were listening to an unusually fine rendition 
of the immortal Shakespeare’s words. Perhaps 
it was due to the fact that her own short life had 
been made up of a continual succession of doubts 
and fears that Norma put into the lines the pent- 
up anguish of a tormented soul. The silence that 
followed her last word caused her to wonder if, 
after all, she had attempted something which lay 
beyond her power to do justice. 

“That was really wonderful, Norma.” Jane’s 
earnest tribute broke the spell. 

“Why, Norma Bennett, I never dreamed you 


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207 


could recite like that!” cried Mary Ashton. “I 
predict that you’ll make the Dramatic Club the 
minute they find you out. You quiet little thing! 
You’d have gone right on hiding your light under 
a bushel, too, if it hadn’t been for this stunt 
party.” 

petite Norma has the Heaven-sent tal- 
ent,” bubbled Adrienne. “You will perhaps one 
day enter the profession, ma cherie^ 

“Don’t let’s talk about me,” protested Norma, 
rosy red. She was a trifie bewildered at her un- 
expected success. “See, it’s nine o’clock. We 
have no time to spare.” Her warning served to 
check the tide of approbation and she was re- 
lieved when Judith motioned to Ethel Lacey to 
take the floor. 

“You first, Judy,” said Ethel. “Mine is a last 
variety kind of feature.” 

Judith strode majestically to the fore and set- 
ting her good-natured face into the stony expres- 
sion of one with a resolute duty to perform, de- 
livered a capital lecture on “The College Girl 
and the Reform Movement.” As Judith’s pro- 
posed reforms were purely of a local nature, her 
sage counsel tended to convulse rather than im- 
press. The more energetically she waved her 
arms and drove home her points, the wilder grew 


208 


JANE ALLEN 


the mirth of her listeners. She was forced, 
therefore, to conclude her address somewhat hur- 
riedly and endeavor to bring order out of the dis- 
order she had created. 

“Stop laughing, girls,” she entreated. “If you 
don’t you’ll have Mrs. Weatherbee here in about 
three minutes.” Catching sight of herself in the 
mirror, she could not refrain from laughing a 
little, too. “A lot of good it does to talk reform 
to such a disrespectful audience.” 

“Go away back and sit down, Judy, if you 
expect us to behave,” chuckled Barbara. “Just 
to look at you makes me positively hysterical.” 

“Go ahead, Ethel.” Judith grinned broadly 
and accepted the advice. 

“My stunt is fortune-telling,” announced 
Ethel. Drawing a chair directly under the light, 
she continued winningly: “Come, pretty ladies, 
let the poor gypsy read your palms.” 

The “pretty ladies” needed no second invita- 
tion. They flocked about Ethel, eager palms ex- 
tended. 

“While Ethel reads their palms, you and I will 
get the feast ready,” proposed Jane to Judith. 
“She can read ours afterward.” 

Judith nodded and the two girls began the 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


209 


pleasant task of setting forth the good cheer they 
had provided in honor of the guests. 

While Ethel predicted startling futures for at 
least five girls, a lavish array of toothsome deli- 
cacies was being spread invitingly out on the 
study table by J ane’s nimble fingers. Judith had 
taken charge of the making of the chocolate, and 
by the time Jane had completed her labor of hos- 
pitality, her roommate announced that it was 
ready. Happening to glance in Judith’s direc- 
tion, Jane observed that which caused her to emit 
a soft chuckle. 

“What are you laughing at?” Judith marked 
the chuckle and inquired into the cause. 

“I’ll tell you later.” Jane straightened her 
face and joined the fortune-seeking group. 

“I’ll be through in a minute.” Ethel looked 
up from Christine’s pink palm. “You will live 
to be at least a hundred,” she assured gravely, 
“but you will never marry. The absence of your 
heart line indicates that you have no heart. So 
you can’t possibly fall in love. This line shows 
that you will very soon be asked to sit at a table 
where ” 

“You’re invited this minute,” interrupted 
Judith. “Come on, girls. Christine, you’ll have 


iio 


JANE ALLEN 


to postpone further dark revelations of your 
future until after eats.” 

“I know as much about it now as a certain 
fortune-teller, whose name I won’t mention,” 
laughed Christine. 

“No one ever appreciates a seeress,” retorted 
Ethel. “Powers of second sight are wasted on 
most persons. I won’t mention names, either.” 

“Very polite, both of you,” jeered Barbara. 

“I love to read palms, but oh you spread!” 
confessed Ethel. “Hard work has made me 
hungry.” 

That she was not the only hungry one was soon 
plainly manifest. No one of the eight girls com- 
plained of a failing appetite, as they gathered 
about the table. 

“Please pour the chocolate, Judy,” requested 
Jane, a sly twinkle in her gray eyes. 

Judith amiably rose to her duty. It was then 
that she made an appalling discovery. The china 
chocolate pot had mysteriously vanished. 

“Why, where can it be?” Judith cast a startled 
look at Jane, as though suspecting her of black 
magic. “It was here a minute ago. Jane Allen, 
you hid it.” 

“I haven’t touched it.” Jane was now laugh- 
ing openly. 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


2II 


“Then where is it?” Judith’s eyes desperately 
searched the room. The amazement in them 
deepened as she saw Jane approach the closet, 
open the door and draw from the depths the miss- 
ing adjunct to the feast. 

A little scream of glee went up from the girls. 
They understood perfectly what had happened. 

“I knew I’d do something,” muttered Judith, 
her fair face very red. 

“I saw you when you did it,” declared Jane, 
amusement written on every feature. “It struck 
me as being so funny I decided not to say a 
word.” 

“What I meant to do was to put the sugar- 
box back in the closet,” explained Judith sheep- 
ishly. “I was so busy trying to hear what Ethel 
was telling Adrienne that — well — I made a slight 
mistake. It’s a good thing you saw me, Jane. 
I would never have thought of looking in there 
for the missing chocolate pot.” 

Judith’s “slight mistake” served to help the 
fun along. It was a wondrous merry little feast 
and when it came to an end at twenty-five min- 
utes past ten the chocolate pot was empty and 
only one lone sandwich remained to keep com- 
pany with a forlorn trio of macaroons. 

“We didn’t have our fortunes told after all,” 


212 


JANE ALLEN 


reminded Jane, as the door closed on the last 
guest. 

“That’s nothing. I never said a word to Bar- 
bara about basket-ball,” was Judith’s penitent 
cry. “I forgot all about it.” 

“Oh, never mind.” Jane tried to cloak the 
slight disappointment she felt with an assump- 
tion of cheerful indifference. She had not forgot- 
ten, even if Judith had failed to remember. “Per- 
haps it was just as well that you didn’t mention 
it. I’d hate to have any of those girls get the 
idea that I was trying to crowd in where I wasn’t 
wanted.” 

“None of them would think that.” Judith 
shook her head. “They aren’t that sort. I’ll 
have a talk with Barbara to-morrow. She told 
me to-night that she thought you were perfectly 
lovely, and that she was so glad of a chance to 
know you better.” 

“Did she say that?” Jane flushed with delight. 
She was rapidly learning that approval of her- 
self was very sweet. “I think she is a splendid 
girl. I’d love to play on her team.” 

“And so you shall,” promised Judith. “I’ll see 
that you get your chance to play or my name is 
not Judy Stearns.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE WINNING FIGHT 

J UDITH lost no time in putting her promise 
into execution. The very next afternoon, 
her recitations over for the day, she set out 
for Argyle Hall to call on Barbara. Finding 
her alone in her room, Judith came directly to 
the point, confiding to Barbara Jane’s ambition 
to play on the practice team. 

‘T hadn’t the least idea Miss Allen wished to 
play basket-ball.” Barbara looked interested 
surprise. “Why didn’t she try to make the 
team?” 

“She didn’t even know how to play, then. She 
wasn’t interested,” admitted Judith. “It was the 
try-out that aroused her interest. She sent for 
an official basket-ball guide and has been study- 
ing it ever since.” 

“But she can’t hope to play even on a practice 
213 


214 


JANE ALLEN 


team without some actual experience,” demurred 
Barbara. 

“Jane says she is sure she can make good if 
she has the chance,” pleaded Judith. “I believe 
she can, too. She is strong and lithe as an In- 
dian. You must remember she has been brought 
up on a ranch. She can run and ride and handle 
a lariat like a cowboy. She ought to take easily 
to basket-ball. Won’t you try her on the prac- 
tice team in Lillian’s place?” 

“Supose, after a trial, she doesn’t make good?” 
Barbara spoke doubtfully. “She is so — so — 
peculiar, she might become very angry if I told 
her she wouldn’t do. Personally, I’m agreeably 
disappointed in her. Before I met her I’d heard 
she was awfully proud and disagreeable. I 
thought her actually beautiful and fascinating 
last night.” 

“She’s a wonderful girl,” was Judith’s earnest 
assurance. “Norma, Adrienne and I are so fond 
of her. She’s queer sometimes; not a bit like 
any other girl I’ve ever known. She has a fright- 
ful temper. I don’t mean by that she scolds and 
rages. When she’s angry she never says a word, 
just glowers like a thundercloud.” 

“I’ve heard of her famous scowl.” Barbara 
smiled reminiscently. 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


215 


“That’s merely an unfortunate habit,” de- 
fended Judith. “You see, she’d never known 
many girls until she came here.” Judith 
launched into a brief sketch of Jane, ending with, 
“If she shouldn’t make good at practice you 
needn’t be afraid to tell her. She’s too sensible 
to get angry over that.” 

“Very well, Judy, I’ll take her on just to 
please you,” nodded Barbara. “Tell her to re- 
port at the gym at four o’clock this afternoon for 
practice. lias she a gym suit?” 

“Thank you, Barbara. You’re a darling!” 
Judith beamed joyfully. “Yes, she has one. If 
you don’t mind, I wish you’d write her a note. 
She would like that, I know.” 

For answer, Barbara went to her writing desk 
and sitting down before it, penned a friendly 
note of invitation to Jane. “Here you are, Judy. 
Anything else I can do for you?” 

“No, indeed. You’ve already proved yourself 
a perfect treasure. I hope I can some day do 
something in return for this.” She patted the 
note. 

After Judith had taken her leave, Barbara 
indulged in a little serious thought. Anxious to 
oblige good-natured Judy, who was always so 
ready to help others, she wondered if she had 


2i6 


JANE ALLEN 


acted wisely. She had hardly liked to repeat to 
the latter the many harsh criticisms of Jane she 
had heard on the campus. The fact that Jane 
Allen was plentifully endowed with good looks, 
wore exquisite clothes and had more money than 
she could spend, had not advanced her popular- 
ity at Wellington. Instead, she was disliked, 
feared, and, as Barbara now honestly believed, 
misunderstood. If she had not been possessed 
of some redeeming traits, it stood to reason that 
Judith would hardly have become her staunch 
ally. According to rumor Jane had not treated 
her roommate very cordially in the beginning. 

‘T’ll take Judy’s word for it,” Barbara mur- 
mured half aloud. ‘Tf the rest of the girls on 
the team make a fuss. I’ll simply tell them that 
as captain I’ve a right to do as I please in ap- 
pointing a sub until Lillian comes back. I’ll 
not say a word to them beforehand. I’ll call 
practice the minute she arrives. Then they won’t 
have a chance to talk it over until afterward. If 
she plays well — I hope to goodness she will — 
then they won’t care so much. Perhaps it will be 
all right, anyway. But Jane shall have her 
chance. I’ve promised Judy, and I’ll keep my 
word.” 

If Barbara had been present in the room when 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


217 


J udith handed Jane her note she would have felt 
wholly repaid for her kindly decision. Jane read 
it through a mist of happy tears, that sprang 
unbidden to her gray eyes. It was really true. 
At last she was to have her wish. Barbara Tem- 
ple was willing for her to substitute on the prac- 
tice team until Lillian returned. 

“How can I ever thank you, Judy?” she 
faltered. She would have liked to hug the 
placidly smiling Judith, but her inner reticence 
held her back. She could only look her intense 
gratitude. 

“By playing up to the reputation I gave you,” 
returned Judith bluntly. “I had to tell Barbara 
that you’d never played. I don’t imagine she’ll 
say a word of it to the others. Just be on the 
alert, and act as though you’d played basket-ball 
all your life.” 

“I can play. I know I can.” Jane’s tones 
were deeply positive. “If I find that I’m wrong 
about it. I’ll give up the ghost as gracefully as 
I can. I won’t wait to be asked to resign.” 

“That’s a sensible way to look at it,” approved 
Judith. Recalling Barbara’s doubts, she was re- 
lieved to hear Jane make this statement. “You 
must try to do your level best. Next Saturday 
afternoon the practice team will work against 


2i8 


JANE ALLEN 


the regular freshman squad. Then, look out!’’ 

‘T know.” Jane understood only too well the 
significance of her roommate’s reminder. With 
Marian Seaton and Alicia Reynolds on the offi- 
cial team she was quite likely to encounter 
squalls. “I’ll be a pioneer player,” she added 
laughingly. Her face suddenly clouded. The 
word “pioneer” was synonymous with Dorothy 
Martin. She could not help wishing that all was 
well between herself and Dorothy. The Doro- 
thy she had first known would have rejoiced at 
the good fortune that had come to her. Jane 
resolutely thrust the now offending junior from 
her thoughts. Her pride whispered that she had 
now no desire for Dorothy’s approval. 

The gymnasium clock was ringing out the hour 
of four when a tall, russet-haired girl, looking a 
trifle less than her usual height by reason of her 
trim navy blue bloomer suit, hung her smart tan 
raincoat on a hook in the dressing room and 
stepped confidently out upon the floor. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” welcomed Barbara 
Temple. She had seen Jane emerge from the 
dressing room and had trotted across the wide 
floor to meet her. “I saw you come in, but was 
busy just then. Come with me. I wish you to 
meet the other girls.” 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


219 


Taking J ane by the arm, she piloted her across 
the room to where a group of three young women 
stood, their heads together in absorbed conver- 
sation. Jane now knew them all by name, but 
had never met any of them. She now had an 
uncomfortable feeling that they had been dis- 
cussing her. 

“Miss Allen, this is Miss Swayne, Miss Hurst 
and Miss Westcott. Girls, this is Miss Allen. 
She is going to play left forward until Lillian is 
able to come back to the team.” 

The trio acknowledged the introduction po- 
litely but with no show of cordiality. Jane ex- 
perienced a desire to frown fiercely and retire 
into her shell. It was evident that she was not 
welcome. Recollection of her promise to Judith 
to do her level best caused her to greet her team- 
mates in outwardly serene fashion. 

“Suppose we go to work at once,” suggested 
Barbara. She did not intend to give the three 
an opportunity to question Jane regarding her 
capabilities as a player. It would be quite like 
Olive Hurst to inquire how long and where Jane 
had played basket-ball. 

Thanks to her careful study of the game, Jane 
knew exactly where to take up her position of 
left forward, and when the ball was put in play 


220 


JANE ALLEN 


she went to work with a will. So far as agility 
and fleetness of foot went, it soon became appar- 
ent that she could more than hold her own. She 
was obliged to listen intently, however, for the 
orders that Barbara continually called out. 
Later, when she had learned more by actual prac- 
tice, Jane was confldent that her playing would 
be fast enough for even the regular team. 

“You are doing splendidly,” Barbara whis- 
pered to her during a brief resting spell. “No 
one would suspect you of never having played be- 
fore.” 

“I love it.” Jane flashed her a brilliant smile 
of such sheer happiness that Barbara felt fully 
repaid for her effort to please Judith. “I am 
anxious to learn everything I can about it. Of 
course the signals bother me now, and I’m not 
always sure what to do next. Another day or 
two of practice and I’ll be in much better trim.” 

“You play very well. Miss Allen.” Olive 
Hurst had come up while Jane was speaking. 
“I suppose you have played ” 

“Let us try that new play I was telling you 
of, Olive,” interrupted Barbara. She blew a 
sharp blast on a small whistle, calling the other 
two girls from one end of the gymnasium. 

Jane understood that Barbara had purposely 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


221 


interrupted Olive and was grateful. She could 
hardly have evaded answering her without giving 
offense. Here it seemed was a fresh proof that 
one girl could be very loyal to another in time 
of need. 

Practice lasted until half-past five. When it 
was over J ane walked as far as Argyle Hall with 
Barbara, asking numerous questions about bas- 
ket-ball which showed how greatly her interest 
had centered in the fascinating sport. 

“Don’t forget we practice again to-morrow,” 
called Barbara after her as she turned to seek 
the Hall, there to regale Judith with an account 
of all that had taken place. 

“As though I could forget thatf^ she murmured 
as she hurried across the campus in the soft fall 
darkness. As she sped lightly along, filled with 
a quiet elation for her recent success, it came to 
her forcibly that, after all, she was glad she had 
come to Wellington. She began to understand 
dimly that in this new life, against which she had 
rebelled so bitterly, there were to be found many 
pleasures hitherto undreamed. At home she had 
but to ask and whatever she desired was promptly 
made hers, but here one had to work for that 
which one coveted. Influence and money might 
open some few doors, but true worth was the 


222 


JANE ALLEN 


only key to those she aspired to open. How dis- 
agreeable and disobliging she had been. Jane 
blushed hotly when she recalled her cavalier treat- 
ment of Judith on that first hard day. How 
glad she was that they had now become such fast 
friends. How much she owed to Judith. No 
wonder her roommate was well liked! She de- 
served to be. Jane vowed within herself to fol- 
low Judith’s example. Then she, too, would be 
liked and respected. 

For the next few days she went about her 
usual routine of study in a beatific state of mind. 
Everything progressed so smoothly and pleas- 
antly that it fairly amazed her to think that she 
had so recently despised college. This unusu- 
ally tranquil state of affairs was largely due to 
the fact that Jane had missed running afoul of 
anything more disagreeable than being obliged 
to sit at the same table with Edith Hammond 
and Dorothy Martin. She had grown used to 
that, however, and Adrienne’s presence greatly 
assisted in lightening the strain which would 
otherwise have been extremely unpleasant. 

Adrienne was openly jubilant over Jane’s ad- 
vent to the practice team, and said considerable 
about it at meals. Dorothy listened and was 
honestly glad that J ane was carving a niche for 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


223 


herself at Wellington. She regretted only that 
she could not tell her so. Although Jane did 
not know it, the generous junior had said more 
than one good word for her, and had conscien- 
ciously kept a starboard watch on her. She felt 
that some day things would right themselves be- 
tween herself and Jane. 

Edith Hammond had no such tender regard 
for the “wild, woolly cowgirl,” as she was fond 
of terming her. At the first inkling she caught 
of the news that Jane was playing on the prac- 
tice team, she thoughtfully carried the informa- 
tion to Marian Seaton. Marian had laughed 
spitefully when she heard it.. Further inquiry 
developed the fact that Jane was more than hold- 
ing her own on the team. Marian smiled even 
more hatefully at this and bided her time. She 
had definitely decided upon one thing at least. 

Saturday afternoon found a goodly audience 
of students from all four classes lining the sides 
of the gymnasium and partially filling the front 
seats of the gallery. Though the game to be 
played between the practice and regular teams 
was not in itself important, still it held enough 
interest to draw many students to the scene of 
action. 

The freshman team had already procured their 


224 


JANE ALLEN 


official uniforms for the season. They were of 
dark green, the blouses ornamented with a large 
yellow F, as green and gold were the freshman 
colors for 19 — . The practice team wore their 
usual gymnasium suits, which luckily were all of 
dark blue. Dorothy Martin had been asked to 
act as referee, and two other upper class girls 
were to be score and timekeepers. 

As Jane Allen stood with the others of her 
team, waiting for the game to begin, she could 
hardly credit her good fortune. Was it really 
true that when the referee’s whistle sounded she 
would become a part of the game to which she 
had so eagerly looked forward? Five minutes 
more and she would be in the thick of the fray, 
struggling with all her might for the honor of 
her squad. She hoped they would win, of course, 
even though three of her friends were on the 
opposing side. As for Marian Seaton and Alicia 
Reynolds, she would heartily enjoy worsting 
them. 

The ball was already in Dorothy Martin’s 
hands for the toss-up. The first blast of her 
whistle would call the two squads to their places. 
Then 

Her eyes fixed on Dorothy, who had raised the 
whistle to her lips, Jane saw that which changed 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


225 


her alert, happy face into its old frowning mask. 
Marian Seaton and Alicia Reynolds had closed 
about Dorothy and were addressing her in low 
but vehement tones. With them was another 
girl whom J ane did not know. She was dressed 
in a dark blue bloomer suit and looked as though 
she might be a substitute player. Jane saw 
Dorothy start, flush, then glance uneasily in her 
direction. Marian Seaton was also regarding 
her, triumphant malice in her pale blue eyes. 
Jane returned the look with all the scornful 
hatred she could summon. Marian merely smiled 
sneeringly, then went on talking rapidly to 
Dorothy. 

‘‘Barbara Temple, look!” exclaimed Olive 
Hurst. “There’s Lillian. I didn’t know she in- 
tended to play. I thought ” Jane’s level 

gaze caused her to break off in sudden embar- 
rassment. 

Barbara had looked at Olive’s command. Now 
she was heading straight for the trio clustered 
about Dorothy. 

“Oh, Barbara, I was just going to call you 
over here.” Dorothy’s usually placid voice shook 
with annoyance. “Miss Seaton tells me that Miss 
Barrows has decided to play on her team this 
afternoon. I am afraid I shall have to ask you 


226 


JANE ALLEN 


to straighten out this tangle. It’s really not in 
my province as referee.” 

Surprise and annoyance held Barbara dumb 
for an instant. 

“I came just in time, didn’t I?” asked Lillian 
cheerfully. “When Marian boasted to me that 
our team was due to get a whipping, I decided 
I was well enough to do my share toward proving 
her in the wrong. I wrote a note to you saying 
I’d be on hand, but it looks as though you didn’t 
receive it.” She rolled a pair of innocent blue 
eyes in Jane’s direction. 

“No, I did not receive it,” snapped Barbara. 
She was growing angrier every second. Know- 
ing something of Marian’s attitude toward Jane 
Allen, she readily saw through the former’s con- 
temptible method of revenge. Yet what was she 
to do? Lillian was a regular member of the 
squad, while Jane was merely her substitute. 
“Did you send it by a messenger, and when?” 
she asked with curt directness. 

“I mailed it,” was the serene answer. 

Barbara noted that Lillian’s reply did not 
cover the question she had asked. Determined to 
pin her down to a definite statement, Barbara 
repeated: “When did you mail it?” 

“Really, Miss Temple,” broke in Marian Sea- 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


227 


ton coldly, “I think your question is rather im- 
polite. From it one might gather that you were 
not anxious for Lillian to take her rightful place 
on the team. It is surely not her fault if you have 
not received her note.” The emphasis on the 
“if” implied doubt. “I happen to know that she 
wrote it, also that she handed it to me yesterday 
to mail for her. I think she deserves a great 
deal of credit for coming to play to-day after she 
has been so ill.” Marian neglected to add that she 
had postponed mailing the note until noon that 
day. 

“Miss Barrows is welcome to play to-day if 
she chooses.” Barbara shrugged her shoulders. 
“I have no desire to prevent her. I will tell Miss 
Allen that she will not be needed. Wait just a 
moment, Dorothy, before you signal the game. 
I wish to explain matters to Jane.” Barbara 
walked away from the detested trio, her brown 
head held high. She felt ready to cry out of 
sheer vexation. She dreaded to speak the words 
that would bring humiliation to Jane. It was a 
burning shame, she angrily reflected. Jane was 
already a far better player than Lillian could 
ever hope to become. 

Intent in watching the bit of drama that was 
going on so near to her, poor Jane had already 


228 


JANE ALLEN 


put two and two together. Olive’s exclamation 
had told her much. Her own eyes had told her 
even more. She now understood only too well 
the meaning of Marian’s hateful smile. It was 
she who had planned the whole affair, with a view 
to belittling the girl she disliked and turning her 
hard-earned happiness into humiliation. 

Jane was seized with a mighty impulse to dash 
over to where her smiling enemy stood and pour 
forth a torrent of bitter denunciation. She made 
a sudden step forward, brows drawn, hands 
clenched at her sides. Then she halted abruptly. 
It flashed across her that this was precisely what 
Marian was hoping she would do. Knowing that 
Jane possessed a high temper, she had calculated 
on a display of verbal fireworks that would 
merely serve to make this “wild, woolly cowgirl” 
supremely ridiculous. 

Jane privately thanked her stars that she had 
divined Marian’s despicable motive in time. She 
would show these petty plotters that she could 
rise above them. Like magic the disfiguring 
frown vanished from her forehead. She greeted 
the approaching Barbara with a particularly 
bright smile. “I understand,” she nodded pleas- 
antly. “Miss Barrows has come back to the team. 
I’d love to play, but it seems I’m not needed.” 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


229 


“It’s a burning shame,” burst forth Barbara 
in low, vehement tones. “I’m so angry.” 

“Never mind, Barbara.” The eyes of the two 
met in an understanding glance. “Even if I 
can’t play to-day, I’m going to stay here and 
watch the game. But, if you love me, tell Doro- 
thy Martin to blow that whistle.” 

“You’re a positive angel, Jane Allen.” Bar- 
bara caught Jane’s hand in hers. Turning, she 
ran back to Dorothy, while Jane walked calmly 
off the field of conquest to take her place among 
the spectators, feeling that if she had lost a great 
deal of pleasure, she had for once, at least, ruled 
her own rebellious spirit. 


CHAPTER XX 


A QUESTION OF HONOB 

‘‘T CAN’T help saying it. I’m almost sorry 
I we won!” was Judith Stearns’ passionate 
exclamation. ‘T’ll never forgive that 
tricky Marian Seaton for this afternoon’s work!” 

The practice game to which Jane Allen had 
so eagerly looked forward, only to meet with 
black disappointment, was over. The freshman 
team had not won an easy victory. Four of the 
five girls on the practice squad had been dis- 
tinctly out of sorts when the game began. Dis- 
pleasure had added unusual snap to their play- 
ing. In the short time that Jane had worked 
with them she had ably demonstrated her superi- 
ority as a player over Lillian Barrows. From 
the first day of practice Lillian had been the 
weak spot on the team. Luck had been with her 
at the try-out and she had made a good showing. 
Afterward she had not played up to it. From 
230 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


231 


the start, Jane had completely outstripped her. 
With the good of the team at heart, the other 
members of the squad could not bring themselves 
to feel sorry that Jane had replaced her. 

They had entered the gymnasium that after- 
noon with high hopes of beating the regular team, 
and Lillian’s return to her own was both unex- 
pected and unwelcome. Quite correctly they 
placed the major share of the blame on Marian 
Seaton’s shoulders, and anger against her petty 
spitefulness inspired them to play as they had 
never played before. At the end of the game 
the score stood 22-20 in favor of the regular team, 
and it was wrathfully conceded among the four 
that they had not done so badly after all. 

Lillian had gained nothing by taking Marian’s 
advice. In reality she had been in anything but 
fit condition to keep up with the fast playing of 
the others. She left the floor, dizzy and shaken. 
Yet she dared not utter a word of complaint for 
fear of bringing down upon herself the storm of 
criticism she knew she deserved. 

The four players on the practice team, how- 
ever, were not the only ones with a grievance. 
Judith, Adrienne and Christine Ellis were 
equally incensed. The moment the game ended 
they made a concerted rush for the spot where 


232 


JANE ALLEN 


they had last seen Jane standing, only to find v 
that she had disappeared. She had waited just 
long enough to hear the winners announced, then 
hurried to the dressing room for her raincoat and • 
made a quick exit through a side door. She felt 
that she could not remain to wait for even J udith ' 
and Adrienne. She had borne up bravely in the ; 
face of disaster, but she was in no mood for the ] 
sympathy of even her best friends. 

Nevertheless she had that sympathy to the ut- 
most, as was plainly testified by Judith’s vehe- 
ment declaration, made as she and Adrienne • 
hurried across the campus in the direction of 
Madison Hall. Judith’s usually calm features ^ 
were dark with righteous wrath, while Adrienne’s ‘ 
black eyes snapped belligerence. ; 

“It is the great shame!” she sputtered. “Some j 
time I shall take the grand revenge upon this 
most hateful Miss Seaton.” 

In spite of her vexation Judith was obliged to j 
laugh at this threat. She had a sudden vision of j 
tiny Adrienne faring forth in the role ofj 
avenger. 

“Oh, you laugh now! But wait a little. I 
shall not forget. Nor will you. Jane is of us ; 
both the dear friend.” i 

“Of course she is.” Judith grew instantly : 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


233 


grave. ‘‘I wish she were on our team. To tell 
you the truth, I came very near to resigning 
after the game to-day.” 

‘T had the same thought,” confessed Adrienne. 
‘Tt would be of small use. We should please too 
greatly Miss Seaton and Miss Reynolds.” 

“That is precisely the reason I didn’t resign,” 
nodded Judith. “We ought to do something to 
cheer Jane up. Supose we invite her to Ruther- 
ford Inn for dinner this evening.” 

“We might also invite the others who attended 
our stunt party,” proposed Adrienne. 

“That’s a brilliant idea,” lauded Judith. “You 
go on to the Hall and invite Jane, Ethel and 
Mary. Poor Norma won’t be able to go. She 
will have to be on duty.” Judith sighed. “I do 
wish we could find some other way for Norma to 
earn her education. She is a regular slave. I 
don’t see how she finds time to study her lessons.” 

“Perhaps the way may yet be found.” Ad- 
rienne rolled her black eyes in a fashion that 
hinted of mystery. Since the evening of the 
stunt party she had been busy considering Nor- 
ma’s case and her active mind had already sug- 
gested a remedy. 

Absorbed in the thought of Jane and her 
wrongs, Judith had failed to note the significance 


234 


JANE ALLEN 


of Adrienne’s remark. As the little girl was not 
ready to unfold her plan, even to her intimate 
friends, she was quite content to find that J udith 
had attached no special importance to her utter- 
ance. 

“I’ll go back across the campus to Argyle 
Hall,” decided Judith. “While I’m inviting 
Barbara and Christine, you can invite the others. 
I’ll meet you at the Inn within the next half- 
hour. I hope Barbara and Christine have no 
other engagements. Good-bye. I’ll see you 
later.” 

Judith wheeled and set off briskly in the oppo- 
site direction, while Adrienne sped toward the 
Hall on light, impatient feet. She was longing 
to comfort the abused Jane and extend her invi- 
tation of good cheer. 

Alone in the one spot of sanctuary which Wel- 
lington afforded her, Jane stood in sore need of 
the kindly offices of her friends. Wholly intent 
on her errand of consolation, Adrienne did not 
stop to knock. She turned the knob and pranced 
into the room, to find Jane pacing the floor in 
her old restless fashion, her head bowed, her fine 
face clouded with resentful suffering. She raised 
her head as Adrienne entered, then muttered: 
“Please go away. I wish to be alone.” 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


235 


“Ah, but that you shall not be.” Adrienne was 
not dismayed by this ungracious reception. She 
advanced boldly upon Jane and encircled her 
with affectionate arms. “Are we not, then, the 
sworn friends? It is I who should now be with 
you. You were brave this afternoon, cherie; so 
brave. To the brave belongs the worship. See, 
I kneel to you.” Adrienne dropped to her knees 
and lifted her black eyes to the frowning face 
above her with such an exaggerated air of sympa- 
thy that Jane was forced to smile. 

“You are a ridiculous child,” she said, the smile 
deepening. “You know only too well that I can’t 
resist such a display of devotion.” 

“Oh, see! She smiles.” Adrienne sprang to 
her feet, well pleased with the success of her 
maneuver. “Now all is well. I have come to 
invite you to the great feast at the Rutherford 
Inn. All those from whom you have the friend- 
ship will be there. Make haste to become ready. 
I shall go now to find Mary and Ethel. We will 
return for you in a short time. Only poor Norma 
cannot be with us. Think how much more we 
have than la pauvre petite, for which to give 
thanks.” 

Adrienne flashed from the room as suddenly 
as she had appeared. She had left behind her 


236 


JANE ALLEN 


food for thought, however. Even in her hour of 
bitterness the contrast between her own affluent 
circumstances and Norma’s bleak poverty struck 
Jane sharply. What she had endured in humilia- 
tion in one afternoon, poor Norma was forced to 
endure continually. For the first time in her 
short life Jane realized the pettiness of her own 
misfortunes as compared to Norma’s infinitely 
greater ills. Yet Norma never whimpered. She 
bore her hurts uncomplainingly and with serene 
fortitude. 

Jane walked to the mirror and surveyed her- 
self with open scorn. "'You are a coward,” she 
accused, indexing a contemptuous finger at her 
reflection. “I’m ashamed of you, Jane Allen. 
But you are going to take that frown off your 
face and smile. Do you hear me? I said smile/' 
The reflection obligingly obeyed her command. 
“Now hurry,” she ordered, “and get yourself 
dressed for the feast.” 

Luckily for Adrienne, she found Ethel and 
Mary in their rooms. They were only too willing 
to dine outside the Hall. Dispatching Ethel to 
inform Mrs. Weatherbee that the dining room 
would be minus the presence of the five girls that 
evening, Adrienne hurried out of her bloomer 
suit and into a frock suitable to the occasion. 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


237 


Once re-attired she did not forget Norma. Flit- 
ting downstairs to the dining room, she beck- 
oned the latter to the door and delivered the 
invitation she knew could not be accepted. But 
she carried away with her Norma’s happy smile, 
born of the knowledge that she had not been left 
out of the fun. 

Half an hour later the three girls knocked at 
Jane’s door. A serene young woman in a soft 
brown silk gown that brought out the ruddy 
lights in her curly hair, graciously admitted them. 
Jane had forced all signs of disappointment from 
her face. These girls had come in the name of 
fellowship. It behooved her to show her appre- 
ciation of them. 

Ethel and Mary had each determined in her 
own mind to offer Jane sympathy for the unfair 
treatment she had received at Marian Seaton’s 
hands. Her calm, self-possessed manner advised 
them not to open the subject. As the quartette 
swung across the campus, a stiff November wind 
in their faces, they chatted volubly about every- 
thing save basket-ball. For the time, at least, it 
was a tabooed topic of conversation. 

“My, but you girls are laggers,” greeted Chris- 
tine Ellis, as the four joined Barbara, Christine 
and Judith, who were seated at a round table at 


238 


JANE ALLEN 


the far end of the try sting place. “We have been 
here at least five minutes.” 

“Sit here, Jane,” dictated Judith. “You are 
to be the guest of honor to-night.” 

Jane flushed at this announcement. “Girls,” 
she said in clear, direct tones, as she took the 
place Judith had assigned to her, “I wish to 
thank every one of you for your loyalty. You 
can’t possibly know how much it means to me 
after what happened this afternoon. I know you 
are anxious to talk about it, and I wish you 
would. It won’t hurt my feelings.” 

“Jane Allen, you’re a perfect gentleman!” ex- 
claimed Barbara, stretching a slim hand across 
the table. “You were simply splendid this after- 
noon, and we were all furious because you were 
so badly treated.” 

“I felt like walking straight up to that Miss 
Hurley and resigning from the team,” said 
Christine Ellis. “So did Judith and Adrienne. 
Dorothy was dreadfully vexed, too. It was a 
shame.” 

Jane saw the circle of sympathetic faces 
through a blur of unbidden tears. Though she 
knew their loyalty, the spoken admission of it 
brought the impulse to cry. 

“I felt like taking Lillian Barrows by the 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


239 


shoulders and marching her off the floor,” put in 
Barbara indignantly. “The idea of her allowing 
Marian Seaton even to suggest such a thing to 
her is past my comprehension. She didn’t gain 
much by it. She looked ready to drop when the 
game was over.” 

“I was disappointed, naturally.” Jane had 
regained her self control. “Nevertheless, she had 
the best right to play. I’m sorry not to be on 
the practice team any more. Still, I understood 
when I began to work with you that it was only 
for a short time.” 

“You may be on the practice team all the 
time,” emphasized Barbara. “I am going to 
make a complaint about Lillian’s playing to Miss 
Hurley. She’s the senior manager of the basket- 
ball teams. Lillian can’t work fast enough for 
our team. As captain, I’ve the right to demand 
that Jane shall replace her.” 

Jane regarded Barbara with wondering eyes. 
She had not dreamed of this. To thus oust Lil- 
lian from the team would indeed be a royal recom- 
pense for" all she had suffered. How angry 
Marian Seaton would be. Jane honestly knew 
herself to be a better player than Lillian. She 
had watched the latter sharply during the game 
and had easily recognized her inability to keep 


240 


JANE ALLEN 


up with her teammates. Lillian deserved the 
humiliation. She had chosen to come back to 
the team at the last moment, not because she 
really desired to play, but to help Marian con- 
summate a spiteful revenge. Now, thanks to 
Barbara, the tables would be turned. 

“Go ahead and do it, Barbara,” urged Chris- 
tine. “Nothing would please me better. It will 
teach Lillian Barrows a much-needed lesson in 
honor, and show Marian Seaton that we can 
strike back.” 

“It will indeed be the grand revenge!” Adri- 
enne spoke with an enthusiastic roll of “r.” “Will 
it not then be a happiness to you, Jane, to thus 
replace the dishonorable one?” 

Jane did not reply. Somehow the words “re- 
venge” and “dishonorable” jarred upon her in- 
ner self. Now that the opportunity to retaliate 
had come she was strangely disinclined to seize 
it. Barbara’s proposal was absolutely above- 
board, yet it seemed an inglorious means to the 
end. Jane’s was a nature too great for petty 
retaliation. She preferred to win her way to 
whatever she desired rather than receive it at the 
expense of another, no matter how ignoble that 
other might be. Still, if she refused to allow 
Barbara to interfere in her behalf, she ran the 


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241 


risk of incurring her friend’s lively displeasure. 
Barbara had evidently taken it for granted that 
Jane would fall in with her plan. 

‘‘What makes you look so serious, Jane?” An 
impatient pucker appeared on Barbara’s smooth 
forehead. “What I propose to do is perfectly 
fair. You needn’t worry about what others may 
say or think.” She had divined that some sort 
of conflict was going on behind Jane’s solemn 
face. 

“I’m not worrying about what may be said or 
thought of me,” began Jane slowly. She paused 
as though trying to determine how she might best 
speak without giving offense. “It’s only that — 
well, I’d not care to go on the team in that way. 
Please don’t think me ungrateful. I know you 
are all my friends. I never believed, until I came 
to know you, that girls’ friendships meant much. 
I was entirely wrong about that. You’ve proved 
yourselves more than loyal. If Miss Barrows 
couldn’t play any more on the team, on account 
of illness, then it would be different. But for 
her to be asked to resign, just on my ac- 
count ” Jane colored painfully. Her eyes 

strayed in mute appeal about the circle of tense 
faces as though seeking confirmation of her mo- 
tive in declining Barbara’s well-meant offices. 


242 


JANE ALLEN 


A brief moment of silence ensued. It was 
broken by Christine Ellis. “Jane is right,” she 
staunchly defended. “Were I in her place I 
hope I’d have the courage to say just what she 
has said. Shake hands, Jane. You are true 
blue.” 

“ ‘Them’s’ my sentiments,” Judith beamed af- 
fectionately upon the now astounded Jane, who 
had dared criticism in order to remain true to 
herself. Secretly Judith had not favored Bar- 
bara’s plan. It savored too much of fighting fire 
with fire. 

“I hope you aren’t angry with me, Barbara.” 
Jane regarded the other girl with anxiously 
pleading eyes. Barbara’s lips had been set rather 
forbiddingly while she listened to Jane’s unex- 
pected declaration. 

“No; I’m not angry.” The compressed lips 
curved into a smile that betokened growing ad- 
miration. “I am disappointed. We need you 
on the team, Jane. Perhaps it wasn’t fair in me 
to plan to get you there by dropping Lillian. 
Still, if she doesn’t play faster than she played 
to-day, someone will have to take her place.” 

“But she was ill to-day,” reminded Jane 
gently. “Another day she may be quite up to 
the mark.” 


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243 


“I doubt it,” retorted Barbara with a profes- 
sional air. “However, just to please you. I’ll 
give her a fair trial. If she fails to keep up, 
then ” Barbara’s shoulders shrugged an elo- 

quent ending to her unfinished comment. 

“Has it occurred to any of you that we haven’t 
ordered dinner yet?” broke in Mary Ashton 
plaintively. “That poor waitress over there has 
circled this table half a dozen times. Now she’s 
leaning against the wall looking unutterable 
things at us. Let’s order our ‘eats,’ then we can 
go on lauding Jane with clear consciences.” 
Mary’s good-humored grin indicated that her 
last remark contained no sting. 

The rights of the justly incensed waitress were 
tardily acknowledged and she departed kitchen- 
ward with the order, there to express her candid 
opinion of college girls behind swinging doors. 

“What are you girls going to do during the 
Thanksgiving holidays?” inquired Jane. She 
was eminently desirous of turning the talk away 
from basket-ball. She did not propose to be fur- 
ther lauded. 

“Only four stingy little days,” pouted Mary 
Ashton. “That means none of us can go very 
far from Wellington.” 

This disgruntled reminder set in motion an 


244 


JANE ALLEN 


enumeration of the ways and means that might 
be employed to extract fun from the brief vaca- 
tion. No one of the seven lived near enough to 
Wellington to dream of spending Thanksgiving 
at home. Before the feast was over, however, 
they had managed to lay out a programme of 
enjoyment which amply proved that resource 
plus the zest for pleasure could accomplish won- 
ders in the way of Thanksgiving entertainment. 

It was half-past eight when the feast ended 
with three subdued cheers for the guest of honor. 
Jane was in a maze of bewildered delight as she 
set off across the campus, with Barbara and 
Christine clinging to either arm. Her sudden 
rise to popularity astounded her. The ending of 
a dark day had brought a perfect night. She 
felt curiously humble, rather than proud, in the 
midst of her good fortune. She did not know 
that she had at last laid the cornerstone upon 
which was to be erected, little by little, a glorious 
structure that would mark her as a shining ex- 
ample to those who came after. She regarded 
herself only as a pioneer who had that day 
cleared away one more obstacle from her difficult 
bit of college land. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE TRUE MEANING OF CHRISTMAS 

T O the students of Wellington College the 
brief Thanksgiving holiday slipped by 
like magic. Those who were fortunate 
enough to have friends or families within visiting 
distance departed jubilantly to partake of 
Thanksgiving cheer and returned grumbling 
over the shortness of the vacation. The major- 
ity of the Wellington girls, however, spent the 
four days within college bounds and made the 
most of them. Aside from being requested to 
attend an unusually impressive service in the 
chapel on Thanksgiving morning, no special re- 
strictions were placed upon the students. Due 
to a generous inpouring of holiday boxes of good 
things, feasting was an important feature in the 
campus houses and a perceptible falling off in 
numbers ensued at meal time. Lavish hospital- 
ity was in order until the last delectable morsel 
245 


246 


JANE ALLEN 


had vanished and the feasters were obliged to 
return to regular fare with sighs of heartfelt 
regret. 

Jane was the recipient of an especially bounti- 
ful offering which Mr. Allen had thoughtfully 
ordered sent to h^r from New York. She was 
therefore able to dispense largesse long after the 
dainties that had fallen to her friends had been 
consumed. Nevertheless she had been the victim 
of more than one spell of homesick longing for 
El Capitan. It was her first holiday away from 
the ranch and not even the gay little social ses- 
sions which she and her friends held in their vari- 
ous rooms or at the Inn could quite make up for 
the past glories of that particular day as she had 
been wont to spend it in her far Western home. 
The only reminder of it was Firefly, and to him 
she gave all her spare moments. Not for one 
day out of the four was he neglected. The sea- 
son had been unusually mild and those last No- 
vember days were ideal for horseback riding. 
Jane reveled in the long gallops she took in the 
crisp, sunlit weather, and rejoiced in the fact that 
this much of her old life was still left to her. 

Firefly was equally elated at receiving so much 
attention. To garner daily, delectable lumps of 
sugar and luscious apples, along with lavish pf;t- 


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247 


ting, then to be allowed to exercise his restless 
little feet in long runs over the hills and far 
away, exactly coincided with whatever ideas he 
may have entertained of horse Heaven. He 
whinnied with pure delight whenever Jane ap- 
peared in his stall and made such ardent demon- 
stration of appreciation that she reproached her- 
self for past lapses. She vowed that in future 
she would visit him every day, if only for a few 
minutes, and promised him with many pats that 
she \ 70 uld take him out for the good of his health 
whenever she could spare the time. 

The morning following the last day of vaca- 
tion broke in a heavy downpour of rain. It con- 
tinued to fall unceasingly, washing away all 
traces of the light snow that had whitened the 
campus the preceding day. True to her prom- 
ise, Jane braved the storm to visit Firefly, affec- 
tionately assuring him of her good intentions. 

Unmindful of her dripping raincoat and un- 
ruly umbrella, which threatened to turn inside 
out with each fresh attack of the rapidly rising 
wind, she plodded back to the Hall in a most 
serene state of mind. She was beginning to ex- 
perience a strange, unbidden pride in Welling- 
ton; a kind of proprietary interest. It thrilled 
her to feel herself a part of so great an institu- 


248 


JANE ALLEN 


tion of learning. How much she would have of 
good to tell her father, when she went home for 
Christmas. How glad he would be to know that 
she had really accepted college and was learning 
to love it. 

Absorbed in these pleasant reflections, Jane 
mechanically shook the water from her umbrella 
and entered the vestibule of the Hall. Her hand 
on the knob of the inner door, she discovered that 
it was locked. As this frequently occurred, she 
placidly rang the bell and awaited admittance. 

“Mrs. Weatherbee wishes to see you. Miss Al- 
len,” announced the maid who admitted her. “I 
knocked on your door, but no one answered.” 

“Where is she?” questioned Jane, frowning. 
She could only speculate regarding the nature of 
that estimable person’s business with her. 

“She’s in her office.” 

Jane stalked down the hall without further 
words. Pausing in the open door of the tiny 
cubby-hole which Mrs. Weatherbee dignified with 
the name of office, Jane coldly addressed the 
white-haired woman at the desk. “You wished 
to see me, Mrs. Weatherbee?” 

The matron swung about in her chair, her 
florid face alive with censure. “I sent for 
you. Miss Allen, to inform you that I have re- 


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249 


ceived several complaints regarding the noise 
that goes on continually every evening in your 
room. While I have no objection to my girls 
entertaining their friends, I cannot allow any 
one of them to annoy those who are engaged in 
preparing their lessons.” 

“I was not aware that we had annoyed any- 
one.” Jane’s old belligerence came to the front 
with a bound. ‘'Will you kindly tell me whom 
we have disturbed?” 

“That is neither here nor there,” came the 
acid retort. “I do not consider it necessary to 
go into detail. The fact that you have annoyed 
others and that it must be instantly stopped is 
the point I wish to bring forward to your no- 
tice.” 

A maddening smile played about Jane’s lips. 
“I think I understand,” she said with scornful 
sweetness. “Thank you, Mrs. Weatherbee, for 
calling my attention to the matter. In future 
Miss Stearns and I will try not to offend. I 
shall appreciate it if you will kindly exact the 
same pledge from Miss Seaton and Miss Gil- 
bert.” 

Jane turned and walked down the hall toward 
the stairs. She half expected Mrs. Weatherbee 
would call her back. The summons did not come. 


250 


JANE ALLEN 


Mrs. Weatherbee was struggling in the throes 
of angry amazement. Jane had hit the mark alto- 
gether too squarely to suit her. She longed to 
call back this high-handed rebel who had all but 
accused her of favoritism and put her in her 
place. This was the second time she had seized 
upon an opportunity to vent her personal dis- 
like of Jane in an impersonal manner. On both 
occasions she had been worsted. Deep in her 
heart she knew Jane had not failed to attribute 
her rebuke to its true source. In the face of the 
girFs shrewd retort, discretion prompted her not 
to continue the argument. Jane was quite likely 
to accuse her of interfering on the grounds of 
personal dislike. But on one point she was 
fully determined, Jane Allen should not pass her 
sophomore year in Madison Hall. 

The disagreeable scene drove Jane’s peaceful 
humor far afield. Once in her room she thrashed 
stormily about, stirring up a little tempest of her 
own. 

“What on earth is the matter?” Judith 
Stearns entered just in time to see Jane’s brown 
walking hat sail madly through the air to land 
in one corner with a flop; her umbrella whizzed 
helplessly after it. “It looks like a clear case of 
tempest without; tempest within.” 


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251 


“I’m so furious with that miserable woman.” 
Jane eyed Judith savagely. “She hates me 
and I hate her!” She burst into an angry re- 
cital of Mrs. Weatherbee’s recent arraign- 
ment. 

“Hm 1” J udith raised significant brows. “Our 
dear Marian has been busy again. Much good 
it will do her. Still, I don’t like it. I wish she’d 
let you alone.” 

“I’m not afraid of her.” Jane’s lips curled in 
scorn. 

“Of course you aren’t. Yet it isn’t pleasant 
to have her always stirring up trouble. One 
never knows when she may step in and create a 
wholesale disturbance. ‘Great oaks from little 
acorns grow,’ you know. You must be on your 
guard, Jane. I understand she is simply furious 
with all of us for standing up for you. That 
reminds me. Lillian Barrows went to her home 
in New York City for Thanksgiving and she 
isn’t coming back. I was speeding j oyfully along 
to tell you, but your indoor cyclone upset my 
laudable intentions.” 

“ ‘Isn’t coming back,’ ” repeated Jane, amaze- 
ment and joy blended in her utterance. 

“No; she had a relapse the day after the game 
and her doctor says she can’t come back to col- 


252 


JANE ALLEN 


lege this year. Of course you know what that 
means.” 

“Yes.” Jane drew a long breath. “I am truly 
sorry for her. I didn’t blame her so much for 
that — about basket-ball, I mean. I’m glad I can 
play in the team, though.” 

“So are we all,” caroled Judith happily. “Oh, 
yes. I’ve another piece of news which isn’t so 
nice. Our Christmas holidays are to be cut down 
to twelve days. It’s outrageous. We always had 
three weeks at Morrison.” 

“What!” Jane sat down heavily in a nearby 
chair. “Oh, it can’t be true! Who told you, 
Judy?” 

“It’s on the bulletin board. I saw it this 
afternoon. The girls are making a great deal of 
fuss about it. Those who live very far away 
can’t go home. Why, Jane, I forgot. You 
can’t possibly go home, can you?” Judith be- 
came instantly sympathetic. “That’s too bad. 
Why can’t you spend the holidays with me? I’ll 
write to my aunt in New York that I’m going 
to bring you. I expect to spend Christmas with 
her.” 

“Thank you, Judy,” Jane was frowning hard 
to keep back her tears, “but I can’t accept your 
invitation. If I can’t go home, I don’t wish to 


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253 


go anywhere else. I shall see Miss Howard and 
ask for a special leave of absence.” 

“You won’t be able to get it.” Judith shook 
her head. “Some of the girls have tried already 
and have been refused.” 

“I shall ask her, just the same,” was Jane’s 
stubborn response. 

But the next day merely brought her an un- 
compromising refusal of her request. “I am 
sorry, especially sorry in your case,” was Miss 
Howard’s sympathetic reply, “but President 
Blakesly has decreed that we are to make no 
exceptions to the rule.” Jane left her office with 
the conviction that first impressions were invari- 
ably correct, and that she now hated college more 
than ever. She had always hated it. She had 
merely tried to deceive herself for a time, but 
now she again saw clearly. 

As the days glided by and the Christmas holi- 
days drew nearer, she descended deeper into the 
Slough of Despond. Even basket-ball could not 
wholly revive her drooping spirits. She played 
with her usual dash and spirit, for the sake of 
pride, but her heart was not in it. On the second 
Saturday in December the great game came off 
between the freshman and sophomore teams. 
Jane watched the freshmen defeat the sopho- 


254 


JANE ALLEN 


mores, too full of her own trouble to care much 
which side won. She was glad, of course, for the 
sake of her three friends, but she was still im- 
mersed in her own sorrows and therefore not 
enthusiastic. It was only the first game in a 
series of three. She provoked Judith, who was 
pluming herself over the victory, by pointing out 
that the sophomores might win the other two 
games yet to be played. The pennant was still 
far from being won. Had Judith not fully real- 
ized how bitterly her roommate was suffering, she 
would have been decidedly piqued by Jane’s pes- 
simism. 

Now that her plans had gone so completely 
awry, it was a difficult matter for poor Jane to 
interest herself in the business of Christmas giv- 
ing. She made a list of names of those she 
wished to remember and ransacked the few shops 
of which Chesterford boasted for suitable gifts. 
But in them she saw little that was worthy of 
consideration. She had plenty of money to spend 
and was prepared to buy with reckless disregard 
for expense, but nothing appealed to her as good 
enough for her dear ones at El Capitan and her 
few friends at Wellington. 

She finally solved the problem by applying to 
Miss Howard for a short leave of absence. 


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■255 


Knowing the girl’s bitterness of heart over her 
changed holiday prospect, Miss Howard reluc- 
tantly granted her request after obtaining Presi- 
dent Blakesly’s consent. She enjoined her to tell 
no one of her proposed trip, “I am doing this 
as a special favor to you, my dear. Were it to 
become known I should be besieged with similar 
requests. As it happens, no one has ventured 
to apply for a like permission, and as President 
Blakesly has given his consent I can allow you 
to go with a clear conscience,” were the kind- 
hearted registrar’s words. So Jane had calmly 
written a note to Mrs. Weatherbee stating that 
she would be absent from the Hall from Friday 
morning until Saturday evening, and slipping 
quietly from the house had departed for New 
York City. Not even to Judith did she reveal 
her intention, although her affection for her room- 
mate prompted her to leave a little note in which 
she stated that she would be away until Sat- 
urday. 

Having never before set foot in the famous 
metropolis, Jane found herself somewhat bewil- 
dered by its intricacies. Many inquiries, accom- 
panied by lavish gratuities, made her progress 
comparatively easy. She sheltered at an exclu- 
sive hostelry, the address of which Miss Howard 


256 


JANE ALLEN 


had given her at her solicitation, which was justly 
famed for its special accommodations for women, 
and furnished feminine guides of education and 
refinement to those who desired their services. 
Jane had the good luck to secure the attendance 
of a delightful woman of middle age, forced by 
reverses in fortune to make her own living, and 
the two found much in common. 

Only one thing occurred to disturb her. While 
at luncheon with her chaperon in a fashionable 
tearoom, she became aware that a florid-faced 
woman was regarding her out of curiously un- 
amiable pale-blue eyes. Jane experienced an un- 
comfortable sense of having seen her before, but 
could not recall her identity. She quickly looked 
away and afterward forgot the incident. It was 
not until she was on the train for Wellington 
that recollection dawned. Now she knew to whom 
those cold blue eyes belonged. The florid-faced 
person was Marian Seaton’s mother. Jane en- 
tertained as small regard for Mrs. Seaton as she 
did for her daughter. She therefore dismissed 
the incident with a shrug. 

With the downfall of her hopes, Jane’s first 
thought had been to telegraph the bad news to 
her father. A distinctly mournful letter had fol- 
lowed the telegram. In it, however, lurked no 


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257 


hint of her renewed hatred of college. As a 
fighting pioneer, Jane had resolved to keep that 
hatred locked within her own breast. There was 
at least a grain of comfort to be had in the gifts 
she had chosen for those she loved. While in 
'New York she had purchased a steamer trunk in 
which to convey them safely to Wellington. She 
had thoughtfully decided on this method as the 
least likely to attract the attention of the Madi- 
son Hall contingent. The arrival of a trunk 
would not be noticed, whereas if she returned to 
the Hall laden with the spoils of her shopping, 
comment was sure to run rife. She had promised 
Miss Howard that no one should learn of the 
registrar’s leniency and she proposed to keep her 
word. 

Judith Stearns alone had a shrewd suspicion 
of where Jane had gone, but she also preserved 
discreet silence on the subject. She met the 
several inquiries as to her roommate’s where- 
abouts with the vague information that Jane had 
been obliged to go away on business, and with 
that indefinite information they were forced to 
be content. 

‘‘How do you like New York?” was her smil- 
ing comment, when Jane walked into their room 
at a little after four o’clock on Saturday after- 


258 


JANE ALLEN 


noon. “I cut my last class on purpose to welcome 
the wanderer home.” 

“How did you know I went to New York?” 
Jane voiced her astonishment. “Only one person 
could have told you.” 

“No one told me. I put two and two to^ 
gether. I see that four is really the correct re- 
sult.” Judith’s smile widened. 

“Yes, I was there.” Jane appeared relieved 
at her roommate’s explanation. “You did not 
say so to anyone else, did you, Judy ? Miss How- 
ard made me promise to keep it a secret. I 
wouldn’t have told you if you hadn’t guessed it.” 

“No; I was mum as an oyster. I had an 
inkling that she gave you permission. You’d 
better keep it dark. Marian Seaton, Maizie Gil- 
bert and Alicia Reynolds planned to do the same 
thing. They were the original mad hatters 
when Miss Howard said ‘no.’ It seems that 
Marian’s mother is in New York. Marian had 
planned to meet her and asked to leave here five 
days ahead of vacation.” 

“I saw her mother there.” Jane looked 
startled. “She was in a tearoom where I had 
luncheon. She stared hard at me, but I don’t 
think she remembered me. I couldn’t recall who 
she was until after I had boarded the train for 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


Wellington. If she knew me, do you suppose 
she’d write Marian about seeing me?” 

‘‘Hardly. She is probably too busy with 
Christmas plans to think of it again. If she 
should, Marian would raise a fuss about it. I 
wouldn’t worry over it, though. Tell me about 
what you bought and where the products of your 
shopping are. You haven’t any excess baggage 
that I can see.” 

J ane entered into a vivid account of her trip, 
promising to show Judith her purchases as soon 
as they arrived. Once or twice a thought of the 
Seatons crossed her mind. She wondered if it 
would not be wise to go to Miss Howard and 
tell her of the tearoom incident. She deemed it 
unnecessary, however. There was only one 
chance in a thousand that anything would come 
of it. 

During the next three days the pleasant flut- 
ter of Christmas preparations drove the affair 
from her mind. College was scheduled to close 
on Wednesday, as Christmas day fell on Friday. 
On Tuesday evening Barbara Temple enter- 
tained the girls who had composed the stunt 
party in her room at Argyle Hall. The eight 
young women spent a happy session together, 
exchanging gifts and expressions of good will. 


26 o 


JANE ALLEN 


Norma Bennett was perhaps the happiest of 
them all. Added to the fact that never before in 
her life had she received so many presents was 
the blessed knowledge that she was to accompany 
Adrienne to New York to spend the holidays 
with the Duprees. Mrs. Weatherbee had strongly 
opposed her going on the ground of needing her 
help, but Adrienne had haunted her like a small, 
persistent gad-fly until she gave chilly consent. 
Tiny Adrienne had a purpose of her own in thus 
carrying Norma off, which she had confided to 
no one. She had begged Jane to go with them, 
but the latter, having been denied the one thing 
she craved, had no heart for visiting even the 
fascinating Dupree family. If the weather were 
good she would spend the most of Christmas day 
on Firefly’s back, then eat a lonely dinner at the 
Inn. Madison Hall without her few particular 
friends was a place to shun rather than abide in. 

Wednesday morning brought her numerous 
express packages from home, along with a little 
sheaf of letters, two of which were respectively 
from her father and aunt. Judith had already 
left the Hall for chapel, but Jane lingered to 
read her letters. Her father’s message of sym- 
pathy and cheer furnished her with untold con- 
solation. His affectionate lines, “Never mind, 


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261 


girl of mine, the winter will soon slip away. 
You’ll be back at Capitan before you know it, 
and then Dad will make it all up to you. You 
can’t possibly miss us as much as we miss you, 
but the great day of reunion is hurrying along, 
so brace up. You are a real pioneer, every inch 
of you, and I’m proud of my brave Jane.” 

Her Aunt Mary’s letter was equally tender 
and hopeful. Jane smiled through her tears as 
she laid it aside to pick up the next on the pile. 
This proved to be a note from Dorothy Martin. 
It read: 

“Dear Jane: 

“I can’t possibly go home for the holidays 
feeling happy without wishing you a Merry 
Christmas. I was so sorry to hear that you 
could not go home, too. I have been so 
pleased to see you daily showing yourself an 
intrepid pioneer. You were simply splendid 
that day in the gymnasium and I honor you 
for the dignified way in which you bore your 
cross. When I come back to Wellington I 
should like to have a long talk with you. I 
cannot but believe that our misunderstand- 
ing may be cleared away if we attack it heart 
and soul. With love and best wishes, 

“Your friend, 

“Dorothy Martin.” 


262 


JANE ALLEN 


Jane’s eyes filled afresh as she read the earnest 
lines. They bristled with sincerity. She had 
sworn never to forgive Dorothy. Now, facing 
the blessed anniversary of the birth of Him who 
counseled forgiveness not once but seventy times 
seven times, she felt her animosity crumble. Who 
was she that she dared brush aside that divine 
counsel? As she re-read Dorothy’s note the 
sound of chiming bells was borne to her ears. 
She listened, then remembered. It was the 
Christmas call to chapel. Following a pretty 
custom of Wellington, Christmas hymns were 
always rung on the chimes on the last morning 
service before the departure of the students. 

‘Dh, come, all ye faithful, joyful and trium- 
phant. 

Oh, come ye — oh, come ye to Bethlehem!” 

pealed forth the bells. Jane heard them, her 
heart swelling with reverent rapture. “Peace 
on earth, good will toward men,” she murmured. 
Up from the ashes of her disappointment soared 
the glorious thought that, though a continent 
stretched between herself and those she loved, 
she had come into an understanding of Christ- 
mas which she had never known before. 


CHAPTER XXII 


JUDITH SPEAKS HER MIND 

"PT ERE’S a letter for you, Jane. If I’m 
I I not greatly mistaken, the handwriting 
^ ^ on the envelope is Miss Howard’s.” 
“A letter for me?"^ Jane looked up casually 
from her book as Judith entered. A faint shade 
of alarm crossed her face as she took the envelope 
and hastily tore it open. She knew of only one 
reason why the registrar should write her. The 
note was short. Its very brevity was suspicious. 

‘‘My Dear Miss Allen: 

“Will you kindly call at my office on 
Wednesday afternoon at half-past four 
o’clock. I shall expect to see you promptly 
at this hour. 

“Yours sincerely, 

“Caroline Saxe Howard.” 

263 


264 


JANE ALLEN 


“Read that.” Jane handed the note to Ju- 
dith, who quickly glanced it over. 

“Do you suppose ” began Judith. 

“I am quite sure that Marian Seaton has been 
busy,” interrupted Jane harshly. “Am I never 
to be free from the spite of that girl?” Jane 
threw up her hands with a gesture of angry de- 
spair and springing from her chair began to pace 
the floor in her caged-lion fashion. 

“You look like an offended tragedy queen,” 
giggled Judith. “I don’t blame you for being 
cross, though.” The laughter went out of her 
merry blue eyes. “If what we suspect is true, it 
puts you in a horrid position. Of course you 
can explain. Still it’s not pleasant to be under 
a cloud even for a day.” 

“It’s contemptible in her,” muttered Jane. “I 
suppose her mother recognized me and mentioned 
seeing me. But what do you suppose Marian 
Seaton has said to Miss Howard?” 

“That is hard to tell,” was Judith’s dubious 
rejoinder. 

“Exactly,” emphasized Jane. “If she has not 
told the truth, then I shall have to contradict her 
statement or else say nothing.” 

“Surely you wouldn’t be so foolish as to allow 
her to put you in the wrong,” argued Judith. “If 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


265 


she has been untruthful, she deserves to be ex- 
posed.” 

“That is just the point,” cut in Jane impa- 
tiently. ‘T despise her trickery, but I hate even 
more to tell tales. It has never been my father’s 
way, nor mine.” 

Judith viewed this side of the argument with 
unbounded interest. She had her own code of 
honor and eminently tried to live up to it. Still 
she had never drawn the line so sharply as had 
Jane. Deliberately set upon, she would turn and 
deal blow for blow. It was a matter of deep 
curiosity that, when maligned, Jane, the belliger- 
ent, seemed incapable of retaliation. 

“You are a queer girl, Jane Allen,” she said 
meditatively. “You rage like a lion at the mean 
things that are done to you, but you never strike 
back. I know that you aren’t a coward. It has 
just occurred to me that the reason you don’t is 
because you are greater in spirit than the rest 
of us.” 

“Nonsense!” Jane reddened at the* compli- 
ment. “It’s all on account of my father that I 
feel as I do about certain things. I’ve been 
brought up on a ranch. Among ranchmen it’s a 
point of honor to keep what they call ‘a still 
tongue in your head.’ Take the boys on El 


266 


JANE ALLEN 


Capitan, for instance. They’d never think of tell- 
ing tales in order to ‘square’ themselves. Unless 
it is something very serious, Dad makes them 
settle their own difficulties without any help from 
him. You see I’ve always lived in a man’s world. 
Can you wonder that I don’t care much for 
this world of girls that I’m now forced to 
live in?” 

“But you do like your little pal, Judy, don’t 
you?” Judith’s question was tinged with wist- 
ful anxiety. Her growing affection for Jane 
prompted her to speak thus. 

“You know I do. I owe every happiness I’ve 
had here at Wellington to you. I don’t believe I 
could ever have endured college if I had been 
obliged to room with someone else.” 

“It is sweet in you to say that.” It was Judith 
who now blushed her gratification. “I can’t 
help thinking of what you said about not telling 
tales. I’m going to try to live up to it, too. I 
hope when you go to see Miss Howard you may 
find that she sent for you for another reason. 
Perhaps we have been running out to meet calam- 
ity.” 

“Perhaps.” Jane’s reply was not optimistic. 
She had a premonition of impending catastro- 
phe that would not be stilled. 


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267 


On entering thfe registrar’s office the following 
afternoon, she knew that her premonition had not 
been an idle one. Miss Howard’s unsmiling fea- 
tures presaged trouble. Her cold salutation was 
further proof. 

“Miss Allen,” she began stiffly, “in giving you 
permission to go to New York City I made a 
serious mistake. Kindly read this.” 

“This” proved to be a letter from the irate 
Mrs. Seaton, in which she roundly censured the 
registrar for refusing to grant her daughter an 
earlier leave of absence. She flatly accused Miss 
Howard of partiality, citing Jane’s case as a 
flagrant example. She continued to lay down 
the law for a matter of three pages and ended 
by signing herself, “With deep indignation.” 

Jane read the letter and handed it back with- 
out comment. Her gray eyes were stormy, how- 
ever, and her famous frown was most conspicu- 
ous. For a long moment woman and girl stared 
at each other in silence. 

“Can you explain to me how this happened?” 
It was Miss Howard who broke the uncomfort- 
able stillness that had followed. “Miss Seaton’s 
letter places me in a most trying position. Presi- 
dent Blakesly will also be deeply annoyed. I 
assured him that you could be trusted to be silent. 


268 


JANE ALLEN 


He rarely grants a request of this nature unless 
in a case of illness or death/’ 

“I did not break my word.” Jane’s head was 
haughtily erect. “I understand your position. I 
am very sorry, but I think the explanation should 
come from Miss Seaton. I have nothing to say.” 

“I have already talked with Miss Seaton. She 
has refused to tell me the source of her informa- 
tion. As she lives at Madison Hall I can only 
surmise from whom that information came.” 
Miss Howard’s hint was freighted with signifi- 
cance. 

“I did not break my word,” repeated Jane 
stubbornly. “I told no one that I was going to 
New York. When I returned. Miss Stearns 
guessed that I had been there. She asked me if 
I had and I was obliged to tell her the truth. She 
mentioned it to no one.” 

“Thank you for that information.” The sar- 
casm of the comment was unmistakable. “That 
will be all. Miss Allen. Good afternoon.” She 
nodded a curt dismissal. 

Jane hurried angrily from the office. Cut to 
the quick at being thus dismissed, she was half- 
way across the campus before it dawned upon 
her that in adhering so strictly to her code of 
honor she had implicated poor Judith. She set 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 269 

off on a run across the campus to inform her 
roommate of what had passed. Not until she 
arrived in her room and found Judith missing did 
she remember despairingly that Judith had men- 
tioned her intention to drop in on Miss Howard 
that very afternoon after four o’clock to inquire 
about a matter relative to her course of study. 

Worse yet, Judith had admiringly announced 
her intention to adopt Jane’s tactics of silence. 
Were Miss Howard to question her, as undoubt- 
edly she would, Judith would keep her vow, 
greatly to her own detriment. There was but 
one thing to do. Jane did not fancy the humilia- 
tion of returning to the office and renouncing 
the stand she had taken. Nevertheless she faced 
about and retraced her steps to Wellington Hall. 
Judith, the good-natured, should not suffer even 
a suspicion of blame for what had occurred. 

When half-way to Wellington Hall, Jane was 
rudely jolted from her lofty height of abnega- 
tion. A familiar figure in a blue, fur-trimmed 
coat was descending the steps. She paused for 
an instant, then swung briskly off in the opposite 
direction. 

“J-u-d-y!” Jane sent her clear call across the 
snowy campus and hastened toward the blue- 
clad girl. “Oh, Judith, dear, I’m so sorry!” she 


270 


JANE ALLEN 


cried as the two met. “I never thought she’d 
blame you. I was just coming back to tell her.” 

“I told the whole sad tale!” Judith showed 
her white teeth in a seraphic smile of vindicated 
innocence. 

“You — told — her!” stammered Jane. “But I 
thought ” 

“So did I,” Judith’s smile widened, “but it 
didn’t work in this case, Janie. ‘Truth crushed 
to earth will rise again.’ It rose like a cake of 
yeast this time.” 

Jane tried to frown. Instead she burst into a 
peal of laughter. The next instant the two girls 
clung to each other, speechless with mirth. That 
which had started out as tragedy ended in 
comedy. 

“Come on,” commanded Judith at last. “If 
anyone happens along, we are likely to be set 
down as harmless lunatics.” 

“What happened?” Jane questioned as they 
started for the Hall, arm in arm. 

“Not so much. Miss Howard looked sur- 
prised to see me. She was very frosty, too. You 
can imagine how I felt when she asked me if I 
had regaled our dear Marian with a full and pre- 
tentious history of your trip to New York. She 
said that you had admitted telling me, and then 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


271 


she proceeded to look unutterable suspicion in 
J udy’s direction. I knew you had made up your 
mind not to say a word, so I added my little two 
plus two correctly and established my honor and 
yours in about three minutes. She said that she 
was glad to know the facts of the case, and that 
she would write you a note.” 

‘‘I am glad, too, that it all turned out well,” 
sighed Jane. ‘‘I hope Miss Howard won’t be 
criticized for letting me go.” 

“She won’t,” was Judith’s confident predic- 
tion. “Nothing further will be said about it.” 
Judith had a reason of her own for making this 
bold statement. On returning to their room she 
left Jane and with lion-like courage marched up 
the hall to Marian Seaton’s door. It was opened 
by Maizie Gilbert, who looked surprised displeas- 
ure at her caller. 

“I wish to speak to Miss Seaton,” announced 
Judith with dignity. 

Marian came forward as she entered, her pale 
eyes narrowing with dislike. “You came to see 
me?'" she interrogated with cool disdain. 

“Yes. I came to tell you that Miss Howard 
knows all about how your mother happened to 
recognize Miss Allen in the tearoom in New 
York. Miss Howard allowed Miss Allen to go 


272 


JANE ALLEN 


there for a special reason, after receiving Presi- 
dent Blakesly’s consent to do so. Perhaps she 
has already told you. What I came here to say, 
however, is this. As Miss Allen’s case was ex- 
ceptional she was requested to go and return 
quietly. In a college of this size where a special 
permission is granted to one student, others who 
have no knowledge of the circumstances are alto- 
gether too ready to accuse the faculty of favorit- 
ism.” Judith delivered this thrust with malicious 
intent. 

“Will you kindly cut your call short?” Mari- 
an’s cheeks were aflame with temper. Never 
courteous, she was now brutally rude. “I have 
no desire to listen to a further account of Miss 
Allen’s trip to New York.” 

“Oh, there’s nothing more to be said,” Judith 
smiled maddeningly, “except,” her smiling lips 
tightened, “that hereafter you are to be very 
careful what you say to anyone about Jane Al- 
len. I am her friend. As such I intend to see 
that she receives fair treatment in all respects. 
If you try again to injure her by word or deed, 
I shall put the matter before President Blakesly. 
I am sure that he would not allow one student 
to circulate malicious and untrue reports about 
another. Think it over. Talk it over, if you 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


273 


like. Just remember, though, that I mean every 
word IVe said.” 

Turning, Judith stalked from the room with- 
out a backward glance, leaving Jane’s oppressors 
to digest her lecture as best they might. Outside 
the closed door she drew a deep breath of satis- 
faction. Whether her mission would be pro- 
ductive of good results, time alone would show. 
At least she had had the exquisite pleasure of 
speaking her mind. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE UNSEEN LISTENER 

J UDITH’S call on Marian Seaton and Maizie 
Gilbert was attended with at least one good 
result; Marian promptly dropped her holi- 
day grievance against the registrar. When she 
had urged her mother to write to Miss Howard, 
she had entertained the idea that perhaps Jane 
had slipped away to New York without obtain- 
ing official permission. Granted this was the 
case, exposure would mean trouble for the girl 
she disliked. An interview with Miss Howard 
showed the fallacy of this suspicion. Yet the 
registrar’s patent vexation plainly indicated 
that she had not expected her leniency to be 
thus noised abroad. Assuming this hypothesis, 
Marian virtuously refused to divulge the name 
of her informant, but took care to create the 
impression that the news had proceeded from 
Jane’s lips. 


274 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


275 


Her brief acquaintance with Jane on the train 
had shown her that the reserved Westerner would 
not submit to being questioned. She had, there- 
fore, shrewdly calculated on thus bringing about 
a rupture between the registrar and Jane. She 
had not counted on Judith as a stumbling block. 

Marian had not the slightest intention of drop- 
ping her persecution of Jane. She had never 
forgiven her for showing such open contempt for 
herself, and she had determined to do her utmost 
to drive her from Wellington. Jane’s early un- 
popularity delighted Marian. Later it galled 
her to note that, despite her ill-natured gossip 
and constant treacherous attempts to discredit 
her, Jane was slowly gathering about her a few 
staunch friends who were ready and willing to 
fight for her interests. In the face of this un- 
expected opposition, Marian was more deter- 
mined than ever to cut Jane’s newly gained 
ground of friendship from under her feet. It 
behooved her to be always on the watch, ready to 
make capital of the smallest incident that chance 
might throw in her direction. 

Although Jane knew nothing of Judith’s bold 
interference in her behalf, she was fully aware 
of what she might expect in future from Marian 
Seaton. More than once she had seen the drama 


276 


JANE ALLEN 


of “Hatred” played on her father’s ranch. She 
had twice seen it enacted amid heavy blows, with 
bloodshed for a final curtain. Often it had ended 
in dismissal for one of the two prime movers. 
On rare occasions it had scorched and shriveled 
beneath the powerful white light of understand- 
ing and from its ashes had sprung friendship. 
In the brief season she had been at Wellington, 
she had discovered that girls could hate as fiercely 
as men. Among them sharp words became 
deadly bullets, sly innuendo the proverbial stab in 
the back, while scathing criticism could deal 
sledge-hammer blows. 

Hers was too sturdy a nature to quail before 
the prospect of what might happen. Thus far, 
almost every disagreeable experience which had 
fallen to her lot had been balanced by another of 
the opposite sort. The mistake over her room had 
brought her Judith. Adrienne’s pledge of friend- 
ship had come to her in her darker hours. Lillian 
Barrows’ treachery had aroused the loyalty of 
her teammates and resulted in placing Jane regu- 
larly on the practice team. The friendly note of 
apology she had received from Miss Howard had 
wiped out Marian Seaton’s attempt to harm her. 
The wreck of her holiday plans had opened her 
eyes to the true meaning of Christmas. Dorothy 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


277 


Martin’s supposed disloyalty had been instru- 
mental in giving happiness to poor, neglected 
Norma. ' 

Best of all, Jane’s faith in Dorothy had been 
fully restored. On the evening of the day on 
which J udith had risen to her standard, Dorothy 
had come to her. Judith had discreetly retired 
from the scene to visit Ethel Lacey. Left alone, 
the two girls had made short work of the barrier 
which Jane had raised in the heat of her wrath. 
When Dorothy had explained that the nature of 
her conversation with Edith had been defensive 
rather than offensive, proud Jane had humbly 
sued for pardon. Then and there the two had 
vowed that never again would they allow the sun 
to go down upon their anger. Whatever their 
differences might he, they would discuss them 
frankly and settle them speedily. 

With the sinister ban of misunderstanding re- 
moved, Jane’s aversion to meeting Dorothy at 
table vanished. As Edith Hammond was a young 
person of many dinner engagements, she was fre- 
quently absent from table at the evening meal. 
On these occasions Adrienne, Jane and Dorothy 
made merry together. Edith’s presence was pro- 
vocative of restraint. Without her the three en- 
joyed themselves immensely. 


278 


JANE ALLEN 


“Is it indeed so that we shall not see the 
haughty Miss Hammond to-night?” inquired 
Adrienne artlessly, as the three met at dinner 
one evening in early January. 

“It is indeed so,” smiled Dorothy. “Edith has 
been very busy' entertaining and being enter- 
tained since she came back to Wellington.” 

“It is well.” Adrienne’s animated features 
betokened small sorrow. “I would that it were 
always thus.” 

“You are a naughty child,” chided Dorothy 
playfully. In secret she echoed the little girl’s 
naive sentiment. Edith had been unusually 
thorny since her return to college, and Dorothy 
had lost all patience with her. 

“I have the great secret to unfold. It is only 
for yours and Jane’s ears. All has been ar- 
ranged for la petite Norma.” Adrienne folded 
her hands with the calm air of an arbiter of 
destinies. 

“So that is why Norma has been looking so 
unutterably happy of late! I laid her smiling 
face to the jolly vacation she spent with you. I 
had no idea there was more than that behind it. 
Tell us the secret, dear Imp. We can be trusted. 
Can’t we, Jane?” Dorothy appealed to Jane. 

“I am a safe receptacle for secrets.” Jane 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


279 


laughingly held up her right hand in mock oath 
of her integrity as a secret-keeper. 

‘‘You remember when our clever Norma gave 
the great soliloquy. Ah, then I whispered to 
myself, ‘What of la petite as an actress? Mon 
pere is the manager who knows many other man- 
agers of the profession. Norma shall go to New 
York with me at Christmas. Then we shall see.’ 

“When we had been in the city several days 
and Norma was, we will say, acclimated, I caused 
her to recite for mon pere and ma mere. They 
were, of a truth, delighted. So mon pere took 
her to the office of a great manager. He also 
heard her recite and then promised to obtain for 
her the engagement next summer in a stock com- 
pany. If she does well she can then earn enough 
money to pay for her junior year at Wellington. 
Thus she will not need to carry the tray or work 
in the kitchen or receive the snubs of some ill- 
natured students. Have I not done well?” As a 
child turns to its elders for approval, Adrienne’s 
black eyes searched the faces of her friends. 

“You are not the Imp. You are an angel!” 
Jane’s hand reached across the table. “Ever 
since the night of the freshman dance I have been 
wondering what I could do for Norma. I knew 
she wouldn’t accept the money that would free 


28 o 


JANE ALLEN 


her of this drudgery. She is too proud and 
self-respecting. But your way is simply splen- 
did.” 

“I agree with Jane.” Dorothy’s hand had also 
gripped Adrienne’s slender fingers. “I never 
even knew that Norma could recite. I’ve tried 

to help her in small ways, but this Well, I 

am willing to sit at the feet of my freshman sisters 
and learn a few things.” 

Adrienne looked highly pleased with herself, 
as well she might. “It is not so much,” she depre- 
cated. “Norma has the talent; I have the power. 
Voila! It is thus quickly arranged. Here is 
Norma now. I have told the great secret, ma 
petite"^ she hailed, as Norma approached the 
table. 

As Norma stood at least five feet seven inches, 
the apellation of “little one” was quaintly incon- 
gruous. Adrienne frequently used it merely as 
a term of affection. 

Norma flushed to the roots of her brown hair. 
“It doesn’t seem as though it has really hap- 
pened to me,” she said, as though in half-apology 
for her good fortune. She wondered if Dorothy 
had any objection to the stage as a means of 
earning a livelihood. Of Jane she had no doubt. 

Dorothy’s warm pressure of her hand was in- 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


281 


finitely reassuring. “You are a lucky girl,” she 
congratulated. “Some day, when you are a great 
actress, we shall be glad to remember that Wel- 
lington was your Alma Mater. I think we ought 
to celebrate to-night. My roommate is out for 
the evening. After supper we will invite Ethel 
and Judith and have a high tea. Then, Norma, 
you must recite for me.” 

A sudden imperative summons from an ad- 
joining table sent Norma scurrying about her 
duty. 

“When the next year comes la petite will not 
have to obey the calls and bear away the dishes!” 
exclaimed Adrienne with deep satisfaction. 

“And she will have you to thank for it,” re- 
minded Jane. “You are a good fairy who 
dropped down upon Wellington from a stray 
moonbeam just to make Norma happy.” Jane 
was thinking of her fanciful comparison made at 
first sight of Adrienne. 

“You are the flatterer who makes me to blush.” 
Adrienne colored prettily. “Let us change the 
subject and speak of basket-ball.” 

Basket-ball proved a fruitful topic for discus- 
sion. Vacation over, it had again begun to loom 
prominently on the college horizon. Public opin- 
ion leaned toward the sophomores as winners of 


282 


JANE ALLEN 


the pennant. It was conceded by all but the 
freshmen themselves that the sophomores were 
better players. To Adrienne’s sturdy declara- 
tion that the freshmen would win the two games 
yet to be played, Dorothy shook her head. “I’m 
afraid you can’t do it,” she doubted. “You have 
one uncertain player in your squad. I won’t say 
her name. You know whom I mean.” 

Adrienne and Jane knew quite well to whom 
Dorothy referred. While at practice Jane, in 
particular, had mentally criticized the work of 
Alicia Reynolds, and wished a trifle enviously 
that she might for just once replace her. In the 
privacy of their room Judith had often com- 
plained of Alicia’s uncertain playing. At times 
she held her own. Frequently, however, she made 
stupid blunders which Marian Seaton tried zeal- 
ously to retrieve. Jane never commented, even 
to Judith, on what she saw. She was not sorry 
to hear her roommate voice what she had already 
observed, neither was she surprised to hear Doro- 
thy confirm it. 

“I wish Miss Hurley would allow Jane to play 
on the position of Miss Reynolds.” Adrienne 
had no delicate hesitation when it came to men- 
tioning names. “The madamoiselle is without 
doubt the favorite of Miss Hurley. N’est-ce pas?'' 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


283 


“That is a leading question. It wouldn’t be 
fair for big sister to answer it.” 

“It is answered,” shrugged Adrienne. Doro- 
thy’s twinkling eyes had conveyed more than her 
lips. “If this Miss Reynolds were some day to 
tender the resignation, I should not weep.” 

Jane smiled faintly at this candid statement. 
The possibility of such a thing happening was 
remote. She could conceive of nothing short of 
physical disability that would cause Alicia to re- 
sign from the team. 

The second in the series of three games played 
between the sophomores and freshmen was sched- 
uled to take place early in March. January was 
rapidly winging its way toward the dreaded mid- 
year examinations. Owing to the approach of 
this ordeal which would occupy the greater part 
of the first week in February, it had been sagely 
decided by the basket-ball committee to allow a 
considerable interval of practice after the affairs 
of the new college term had been adjusted. 

In spite of the approaching examinations, 
brisk practice went on betwen the freshman and 
substitute teams. This was partly due to the 
fact that the girls of the sophomore squad were 
devoting more time to study than to practice. 
Taking advantage of this studious mood, their 


284 


JANE ALLEN 


opponents were leaving nothing undone that 
would tend to make them victorious in the com- 
ing contest. Whenever they could steal an hour 
or two after classes they prodded the sub-team 
on to duty and worked with a will. 

As it happened, the subs needed little prod- 
ding. One and all they were devoted to the 
game. They met the call to practice with the 
utmost willingness and bade fair to outplay the 
official team itself, so smoothly did they work 
together. The week preceding the mid-year test, 
basket-ball activities ceased and a wholesale 
review set in, to an accompaniment of much mid- 
night oil. Then followed a dread season of ques- 
tion and answer, during which hope and fear 
commingled. Its end was celebrated by numer- 
ous social sessions in the various campus houses, 
for no student was sorry when that fateful test 
had passed on to keep company with similar har- 
rowing shades. 

The middle of February found the basket-ball 
enthusiasts again hard at work. Little more than 
two weeks stood between the freshmen and the 
coming game. They were now glad of their 
earlier practice, for the sophomores had awak- 
ened to their need to work and frequently claimed 
the gymnasium. As this was all fair enough they 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


285 


bore it meekly and, on occasions when the coveted 
floor was theirs, they endeavored to make up for 
lost time. 

But when Saturday, the fifth of March, came, 
they tasted the aloes of defeat. A score of 20-12 
in favor of the sophomores sent them scurrying 
to their dressing room on the verge of tears. 
They had been so sure of themselves. It was 
hard to credit that, with all their strenuous work, 
they had been worsted. 

For reasons best known to themselves three 
members of the team were secretly burning with 
indignation. Judith, Adrienne and Christine 
knew exactly why defeat had overtaken them. 
Alicia Reynolds had perpetrated several glaring 
blunders that had piled up the score of their op- 
ponents. If only Jane had been on the team, 
was the separate resentful thought of each of 
the three as they silently slipped on their long 
coats preparatory to leaving the dressing room. 
The presence in the room of Marian Seaton and 
the incompetent Alicia alone served to tie their 
tongues. Marian was looking brazenly defiant as 
she collected her effects. She knew that trouble 
was brewing for Alicia. The latter was attempt- 
ing to follow her companion’s example, though 
she felt more like crying. Noting Alicia’s down- 


286 


JANE ALLEN 


cast air, Marian hurried her into her coat and out 
of the dressing room. She did not propose that 
her friend should disgrace herself by crying while 
in the presence of this unsympathetic trio. 

Hustling the drooping Alicia across the gym- 
nasium to where Maizie Gilbert and a number 
of her particular friends were standing, she left 
her to their voluble expressions of sympathy and 
made an excuse to return to the dressing room. 
She was insatiably curious to know what was 
being said about herself and Alicia. She was well 
aware that the latter had played so badly as to 
jeopardize her position on the team. What she 
most wished to discover was whether the three 
girls intended to enter complaint of the fact. 

Excited voices within told her that she had 
been wise to return. Though the door was closed 
she could hear quite plainly. To avoid giving the 
effect of listening, she paused, and stooping be- 
gan a lengthy process of adjusting her shoelace. 
Though a noisy admiration party was in full 
swing around the triumphant sophomore squad, 
she determined to run no chance of being set 
down as an eavesdropper. After a fashion 
Marian Seaton was clever, but her cleverness was 
never put to good use. 

She could make little of Adrienne’s vehe- 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


287 


merit sputtering, half -English, half -French. Ah! 
Now it was Judith’s clear tones that came to her 
ears. 

“I have said right along that Miss Hurley has 
no right to keep Alicia Reynolds on the team.” 
In her resentment Judith’s voice rose. “It is not 
fair to the rest of us. I don’t like Marian Seaton, 
but I must say she is a splendid player. So you 
see I’m not prejudiced. For the good of the 
team we ought to have Jane. She is a wonder. 
Barbara says she is the best player on the sub- 
team and ought to be on the official team.” 

“Then I shall try to have her placed there,” 
broke in Christine with sharp decision. “As cap- 
tain I think I ought to have some right, at least, 
to say what shall be done. I shall see Miss Hur- 
ley ” 

But Marian waited to hear no more. She also 
was resolved to see Miss Hurley, and at once. 
There was another point, too, on which she had 
made up her mind, and it related intimately to 
Jane Allen. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE 

B ut while three justly incensed girls were 
working for the good of the team and 
Jane’s happiness, a fourth equally en- 
raged young woman was unburdening herself to 
Roberta Hurley. Her flow of expostulation 
must have been attended with some degree of 
success. When she left the gymnasium in com- 
pany with the senior manager, her pale blue eyes 
were agleam with malicious triumph. 

On the next afternoon Christine Ellis sought 
Miss Hurley and put forth a straightforward 
plea in the name of the freshmen. But she met 
with a brusque reception. Coolly decisive, the* 
senior manager delivered her ultimatum. Alicia 
Reynolds must remain on the team. Christine 
promptly lost her temper and all but accused 
288 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


289 


Miss Hurley of favoritism. The vexed captain 
might as well have beaten her head against a stone 
wall. The haughty manager merely treated her 
as though she were an unruly child and snubbed 
her in dignified fashion. 

“Were I as unfair as you appear to think me, 
I might take into consideration your decided im- 
pertinence, Miss Ellis, and make a change in the 
team that would hardly be to your liking,” was 
Miss Hurley’s significant comment. 

“If you mean me, you may ask for my resig- 
nation whenever you choose,” retorted Christine, 
and marched off with her head held high. She 
was too greatly exasperated to care whether or 
not she remained on the team. She had fully 
expected that Miss Hurley would be disinclined 
to interfere, but she had not looked for such 
flat opposition. She reflected resentfully that 
“straws” indicated plainly which way the wind 
blew. Afterward, in recounting the unsatisfac- 
tory interview to Judith and Adrienne, the three 
unanimously agreed that it would be best to say 
nothing about it to Jane. What she did not 
know would not trouble her. To confess to her 
their failure to advance her interests would tend 
to make her unhappy. 

Stung by the memory of their recent defeat. 


290 


JANE ALLEN 


the freshman team practiced harder than ever. 
Adrienne, Judith and Christine spurred them- 
selves on to fresh effort with intent to over- 
come the handicap that menaced future victory. 
Marian Seaton did brilliant work for the same 
reason. Privately she commenced to nag Alicia 
Reynolds about her playing, reminding her 
sharply that she must keep up with the others, 
for fear of incurring the criticism of the fresh- 
man class. Basket-ball excitement had risen to 
fever heat in both classes since the playing of 
the second game of the contest. The third game, 
which was to come off directly after the Easter 
vacation, was now a matter of compelling interest 
to both organizations. 

Among the freshmen, the sub-team was also 
playing its way to heights of importance. Prac- 
tice went on to the tune of noisy applause when 
a particularly clever throw to basket was made. 
There were always plenty of spectators to line 
the gymnasium walls, for the sophomores were 
not above dropping in on the busy scene to watch 
and comment on the work of their team’s oppo- 
nents. 

Jane Allen’s spirited playing was frequently 
commended. More than one girl whispered to 
her neighbor that “Miss Allen ought to be on 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


291 


the regular team.” It was a pity that she had 
not entered the try-out held at the beginning of 
the season. Occasionally these pleasant com- 
ments reached J ane’s ears, inspiring her to 
greater effort. As boisterous March bullied and 
blustered out his remaining days, she grew more 
than ever in love with basket-ball. She was 
already an expert player and looked hopefully 
forward toward trying next year for a place on 
the sophomore squad. 

It was while she was thus engaged in whole- 
heartedly doing her best on the team that a sinis- 
ter cloud appeared on the blue of her happiness. 
It lacked a little more than a week until the 
beginning of the Easter vacation and the rival 
squads were utilizing every spare moment in 
which to perfect their playing. Almost at the 
close of an hour of spirited contest between the 
sub and the regular teams, something occurred 
to which at the time Jane paid no special atten- 
tion. During a headlong scramble for the ball, 
which necessitated general jostling, Alicia Reyn- 
olds stumbled and fell. Swept onward in the 
rush, Jane gave no heed to the fallen player. 
Accidents of that nature were a part of the game. 
Once down, the unfortunate one made it her busi- 
ness to bob up promptly. Had Judith fallen, it 


292 


JANE ALLEN 


would have made no difference to J ane. At such 
a time personal feelings were non est. 

Practice over, Jane was about to cross the floor 
to the dressing room when her glance came to 
rest on a group of girls of whom Alicia Reynolds 
was the center. Her eyes flashed stormily as she 
noted that they were staring at her in an any- 
thing but pleasant fashion. She quickly looked 
away. Nevertheless in that brief instant she had 
observed that Marian Seaton, Edith Hammond 
and Roberta Hurley were of the group. The 
next moment Jane rebuked herself sharply for 
allowing such a thing to disturb her, and reso- 
lutely dismissed it from her thoughts. 

Next day at practice she had quite forgotten 
it. She even smiled a trifle grimly when, during 
the progress of the play, Alicia lurched heavily 
against her and through her own clumsiness 
barely missed falling again. Several times that 
afternoon fate seemed determined that she and 
Alicia should run afoul of each other. To cap 
the climax, before practice was over Jane and 
Marian Seaton bumped their heads smartly to- 
gether, causing the latter to exclaim angrily. 
Again on leaving the floor she noticed the same 
hostile group of yesterday watching her. This 
time Marian was doing all the talking. Jane 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


293 


wondered if Marian was airing the grievance of 
her bumped head for their benefit. 

On the third day she awoke to the fact that 
she was receiving decidedly rough treatment from 
both Marian and Alicia. Moreover, they seemed 
perpetually in her path. Alicia fell down twice. 
The second time she landed at Jane’s very feet 
and J ane narrowly avoided stepping on her. She 
could have sworn that three different times 
Marian deliberately crashed against her, re- 
bounding with unnecessary violence. To an on- 
looker it would appear that Jane was at fault. 
This, however, did not then occur to Jane. In- 
stead she was possessed of the idea that the two 
girls were bent on annoying her with intent to 
arouse her to an open display of temper. Merely 
disgusted, she met these furtive attacks with an 
impassivity she was far from feeling. So far as 
she was concerned her tormentors should never 
know that she even suspected them of treach- 
ery. 

Jane’s consternation and surprise were un- 
bounded when, on the following morning, she 
found a note from Roberta Hurley in the Hall 
bulletin board, requesting her resignation from 
the practice team. The note was couched in the 
most formal terms, and contained no reason for 


294 


JANE ALLEN 


the request. Jane’s alert faculties instantly set 
to work to supply the omission. Her mind re- 
verting to the disagreeable incidents that had 
attended her practice of the past few days, she 
now understood. Marian and Alicia had deliber- 
ately purposed the frequent collisions and mis- 
haps which she had regarded as accidental, with 
intent to make her appear as an unnecessarily 
rough and tricky player. On the day that Alicia 
had taken that first tumble she had begun the 
campaign. That accounted for the hostile eyes 
which had afterward been directed toward her. 
Once the seed of suspicion had been sown in such 
fertile soil, it had instantly sprouted. Assiduous 
cultivation had insured its lightning growth. 

Jane’s first impulse was to hurry upstairs to 
tell J udith. Then she remembered that her room- 
mate had already left the Hall. As she continued 
to stare at the cruel lines she felt suddenly suf- 
focated by her narrow surroundings. She was 
assailed by an impetuous desire to mount Firefly 
and ride away from it all. It was the first day 
of April, but this was no hoax of All Fool’s Day. 
It was stark, bitter fact. From her windows that 
morning the perfect blue of a spring sky had 
awakened in her the longing to play truant. N ow 
she craved the balm of sun, sky and soft breezes 


OF THE SVB^TEAM 


295 


as an antidote for this avalanche of humiliation 
that had so unexpectedly descended. 

Jane dashed up the stairs to her room. Fif- 
teen minutes afterward she was on her way to 
the stable. Once on Firefly’s trusty back, she 
galloped furiously away from the college and 
through the staid streets of the sleepy town, bent 
only on putting distance between herself and 
Wellington. 

It was nine o’clock in the morning when she 
rode away. It was five o’clock in the afternoon 
when she went slowly up the steps of the Hall. 
All that day Firefly, sturdy and untiring, had 
borne her faithfully wherever she had willed him 
to go. A wayside hostelry many miles from Wel- 
lington had furnished refreshment for both girl 
and horse. During those long sunny hours Jane 
had been busily thinking. Her whole mind now 
centered on reprisal. She would publicly con- 
front Marian and Alicia and demand justice. If 
they refused to retract their unfair accusations 
against her, she would carry her grievance higher. 
Miss Rutledge would sift matters to the bottom. 
She, at least, was absolutely impartial and fair- 
minded. 

The longer Jane considered her plan the better 
it pleased her. Hitherto she had endured in 


296 


JANE ALLEN 


silence. Now the time had come to speak. Once 
and for all she would end this hateful persecu- 
tion. As she had missed practice that afternoon, 
Miss Hurley would naturally take it for granted 
that she was guilty of the crimes laid at her door. 
By this time her own friends must have learned 
what had happened. No doubt a girl of Miss 
Hurley’s choosing had played on the sub-team in 
her place. 

“I might have known it!” were Judith’s first 
words. A single glance at the tall figure in riding 
clothes revealed to her in what fashion Jane had 
spent the day. 

“You’ve heard, I suppose.” Jane stared 
darkly at Judith, her crop beating a nervous tat- 
too on her riding boot. “Have I been branded 
as a disgrace to the team?” 

"'Heard?'" Judith’s voice soared to heights of 
indignation. “I’ve heard nothing else. It was 
outrageous in Miss Hurley to lend herself to such 
trickery. As for Marian Seaton and that cow- 
ardly Alicia Reynolds! It makes me sick to 
think of them. I don’t blame you for cutting 
your classes and running away! I suppose our 
dear manager sent you a note?” 

“Yes. Would you like to see it?” Jane drew 
the note from a pocket of her riding coat and 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


297 


bravely handed it to Judith. She had read it so 
many times that day she knew it by heart. 

“It’s the limit!” In her disgust Judith found 
in slang only the force to express her feelings. 
“Never mind. Here is a note to match it. Read 
that!” 

She thrust the note at Jane, whose eyes trav- 
eled unbelievingly over these pertinent lines : 

“We, the undersigned, by reason of the 
unfair treatment accorded to Jane Allen of 
the substitute team, do hereby not only make 
protest against the same, but cheerfully re- 
sign our various positions on the regular and 
substitute teams.” 

Seven bold signatures followed this amazing 
declaration of independence. 

“Why !” stammered Jane. “Why ” 

Here was justification in full force. The 
resignation of the seven girls meant the down- 
fall of freshman basket-ball for that year at least. 
The great game would never be played. It 
would be too late for an inexperienced team to 
dream of facing the sophomores. Marian and 
Alicia had plotted to force her from the suh- 
team. But in her hour of need friends had loy- 


298 


JANE ALLEN 


ally risen to her standard. Her enemies had cast 
a boomerang, little dreaming how signally it 
would strike home. There was now no need for 
her to go to Miss Rutledge. Fate had already 
decreed otherwise. 

“What do you think of that?"' Judith’s tri- 
mriphant inflection brought Jane out of her 
brown study. “Of course it’s hard on the fresh- 
men. They have certainly .been loyal fans. Still, 
we can’t stand by and let Alicia and Marian 
Seaton and Miss Hurley have their own way. 
It’s a poor rule that won’t work both ways, you 
know.” 

“I don’t think I deserve such splendid friends.” 
Jane’s clear enunciation faltered. “I am sorry 
for the freshman fans, but I am glad to be even 
with Marian Seaton. I despise her!” Jane’s 
fingers clenched in nervous fury. “I am glad, 
glad ” 

The words died in her throat. Her vengeful 
gaze had wandered to the opposite wall where a 
calm, lovely face looked down sorrowingly, so 
it seemed to Jane, upon her. Now she was back 
in the years at El Capitan. It was Sunday after- 
noon. She sat beside Dearest on the veranda. 
Her mother was holding the Book of books on 
her knee. Jane could hear her low, gentle tones: 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


299 


“ ‘But I say unto you which hear, love your ene- 
mies; do good to them which hate you. Bless 
them that curse you, and pray for them which 
despitefully use you.’ ” 

“ J ane !” Judith broke in sharply on the vision. 
“What is the matter? What ” 

Her eyes still on the pictured face, Jane tore 
the resignation across. “I can’t let you do it, 
Judy,” she faltered. “I thought I was glad, but 
I’m not. If you sent this resignation for my 
sake, I’d feel that I was just as contemptible as 
those who put me off the team. Besides it 
wouldn’t be fair to you girls or the freshman 
class. So I am going to ask you to explain to 
each girl who signed this paper just why I can’t 
accept this sacrifice. You see, Judy, I’m trying 
to be a real pioneer, and in order to do that I’ve 
got to be true to myself.” 


CHAPTER XXV 


A FRIEND IN NEED. 

J ANE hailed the nearness of the Easter vaca- 
tion with a thankful heart. Even that short 
period of time would serve to mitigate the 
sting of her dismissal from the sub-team. Al- 
though Judith had not approved of Jane’s stand, 
she was forced to respect the motive that lay be- 
hind it. In her girlish fancy Jane had assumed 
the noble proportions of a Joan of Arc. She 
mentally likened her beautiful roommate to half 
a dozen famous historical characters who had died 
rather than abdicate their lofty principles. Nev- 
ertheless she had had her own troubles in bring- 
ing six defiant young women, set upon retaliation, 
to regard Jane’s peculiar conduct from her point 
of view. 

In the end she won them over, and with the 
exception of one or two tried friends, no one ever 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


301 


knew how uncertainly the destiny of freshman 
basket-ball had wavered in the balance. Marian 
Seaton and Alicia Reynolds, however, found the 
seven girls with whom they practiced uncom- 
promisingly stiff and cold. When not on duty 
they presented the front of an animated band of 
threatening glaciers, and neither of the plotters 
spent a very congenial time while at practice. 

Marian Seaton was not greatly abashed at this 
frigidity. She had a number of friends who, like 
herself, cared little for the traditions of Welling- 
ton. Alicia, however, was fashioned of better 
material, though she did not suspect it. Im- 
pressed by Marian’s pretensions, she had blindly 
followed her lead. In striving zealously to imi- 
tate Marian, certain latent good qualities which 
were naturally hers remained hidden. Not for 
worlds would Alicia have admitted to Marian 
her honest opinion of herself as a basket-ball 
player. Neither would she have dared to con- 
fess that the displeasure of the seven girls made 
her feel uncomfortably guilty. More than once 
she had tried to boost her courage to the point of 
seeking Christine, acknowledging her defects as 
a player and tendering her resignation. Fear of 
Marian alone prevented her from taking this 
step. 


302 


JANE ALLEN 


Thursday noon before Easter marked the end 
of recitations until after vacation. Many of the 
students had made preparations to leave Wel- 
lington that very afternoon. The Beta Delta 
Phi’s, of Staunton, a nearby college for young 
men, were to hold a dance at their fraternity 
house that evening. A number of the Welling- 
ton girls were invited and had therefore put off 
their departure until Friday. As the affair to 
be given was a prominent social event of the col- 
lege year, those favored with invitations were 
considered fortunate. 

Among the elect was Edith Hammond. Her 
undeniable good looks, smart clothes and charm- 
ing manners (these last were kept strictly for 
company use) , made her popular with the Staun- 
ton lads. She was always sure of an invitation 
to their dances, and therefore had a high opinion 
of her powers of attraction. 

Determined to surpass every other girl to be 
present at the dance, Edith had written to her 
mother demanding an expensive white lace gown 
on which she had set her heart. Owing to the 
usual dilatory methods of the modiste, the cov- 
eted frock did not arrive until late Thursday 
morning. Although it had been carefully packed, 
it came out of its many layers of tissue paper 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


303 


with its delicate flounces somewhat wrinkled. 

Although Edith felt perfectly free to dispar- 
age Norma Bennett whenever she chose, she did 
not hesitate to seek her in such an emergency. 
It gave her a thrill of virtuous benevolence to 
consider that she was thus offering Norma the 
chance to turn an honest penny. Poor Norma 
would have greatly liked to refuse the sopho- 
more’s patronizing request, but beggars could 
not be choosers. So she reluctantly took the 
gown from Edith’s hands and promised to attend 
to its rumpled frills. 

Ever since breakfast that morning she had 
been engaged in doing similar tasks. The com- 
ing dance had brought her services as a repairer 
of feminine finery into great demand. Even 
Judith Stearns, who gave little thought to the 
preciseness of her wardrobe, had asked Norma 
to mend a torn flounce of her white lace frock. 
This was a labor of love. Norma resolved that 
she would attend to Judith’s need first. She 
could not help noticing as she laid Edith’s gown 
on her bed and took up Judith’s, how very much 
alike they were. 

“Where is Judith?” she asked, as half an hour 
later Jane answered her knock. 

“Come in, Norma,” Jane invited cordially. 


304 


JANE ALLEN 


“Judith had to go over to see Miss Howard. I 
am her chief packer. Judy starts for home this 
afternoon.” She waved a hand at Judith’s open 
trunk, into which she was rapidly placing her 
roommate’s effects. 

“So she told me. Here is her gown.” Norma 
tendered the lace frock. 

Jane took it and laid it on Judith’s bed. “Wait 
a minute, Norma, until I give you your just and 
lawful dues. Next year you will have a chance 
to do nothing but look after your own affairs,” 
she added tactfully, thereby sweetening the sor- 
did process of money giving. “You must take 
it,” she commanded, as Norma seemed about to 
refuse the money Jane handed her. “Judith 
wouldn’t like it if you didn’t. You and I will 
have some nice times here over Easter. I can’t 
go home, you know, and I don’t care to go any- 
where else.” 

“I shall love to be with you.” Norma looked 
her shy gratitude for many things. “Now I 
must hurry. I’ve so much to do to-day. For 
once I am popular.” She smiled whimsically. 

After she had gone, Jane finished Judith’s 
packing, then closed and locked her trunk. By 
way of facilitating matters for absent-minded 
Judith, who was apt to bungle her affairs when 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


305 


in a hurry, she telephoned the expressman. 
Strange to say, he appeared soon after, accord- 
ing to promise, and carted the trunk away to the 
station. 

“Your trunk has gone,’’ Jane informed her 
roommate when she returned an hour later. 

“You are a jewel.” Judith embraced Jane 
with bearish enthusiasm. “I am going down- 
stairs to luncheon now, for I’ve several things to 
do before I go. I’ll see you a little after two and 
we’ll take our last fond farewells.” 

“All right,” nodded Jane. “I am going to 
take luncheon at the Inn with Adrienne. Sorry 
you haven’t time to come. But I’ll surely be 
here by two.” 

But for once the usually punctual Jane was 
behind time. Luncheon with fascinating little 
Adrienne was usually a protracted affair. When 
she and Jane discovered to their horror that the 
hands of the Inn clock pointed to two, they made 
a hasty retreat in the direction of Madison Hall. 

“I had almost given you up.” Judith looked 
rather aggrieved as the two girls burst into the 
room. She was all ready for the journey and in 
the act of drawing on her gloves as they entered. 

Adrienne’s flow of quaint apology soon had 
her smiling, and the three went downstairs to the 


3o6 


JANE ALLEN 


waiting taxicab that was to bear her away, ex- 
changing rash promises of letters that stood 
small chance of ever being written. 

After Judith had been whirled out of sight, 
Jane proposed a visit to Firefly, and the two 
girls spent a merry session putting Jane’s pet 
through a series of clever little tricks, urged to 
the performance of them by lumps of sugar and 
apples. 

It was half -past three when Jane sought her 
room. Stripped of Judith’s sunny presence, it 
seemed bare and lonely. Jane sat down on her 
couch and stared disconsolately about her. How 
much she would miss Judy! 

A sharp rapping on the door aroused her from 
her gloom. “Come in,” she called. 

“Oh, Jane, what shall I do?” A white-faced, 
wild-eyed girl precipitated herself into the room 
with a force that brought Jane to her feet in 
alarm. 

“Norma Bennett, what ails you?” Stepping 
to the door, Jane closed it, then confronted 
Norma. Something serious was certainly afoot. 
She had never seen quiet Norma so utterly dis- 
tracted. 

“Miss Hammond’s gown!” wailed Norma. 
“She says I stole it. I didn’t. I never stole any- 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


307 


thing in my life. I took it to press for her this 
morning. It was in my room. Now it’s gone!” 
Norma broke into sobs of mingled fright and 
resentment. 

‘‘How ridiculous in her to accuse you of steal- 
ing her gown.” Jane’s quietly contemptuous 
tones had a very potent effect on the sobbing 
girl. 

“I knew you wouldn’t believe it.” Norma 
made a brave effort at self-control. “I can’t im- 
agine where it went. It was on my bed after 
luncheon. I pressed it as soon as I finished mend- 
ing Judith’s flounce. I took it to her room, but 
she was out. I didn’t dare go in. You under- 
stand.” She looked piteously at Jane. 

“Yes, I know. Where is Miss Hammond?” 
Jane was soberly considering the situation. 

“She — she’s in her — room,” faltered Norma. 
“She — said — if I would return it at once she 
wouldn’t tell anyone. But I can't. I haven’t it. 
I don’t know where it is.” Norma made a des- 
pairing gesture. “She is furious over it.” 

“Come with me.” ’ Jane took firm hold of 
Norma’s arm. “We had better make a call on 
Miss Hammond. This affair will have to be 
cleared up at once. Show me her room. It’s on 
the third floor, isn’t it?” 


3o8 


JANE ALLEN 


Norma nodded in dumb misery and silently 
conducted Jane to Edith’s room. 

Jane struck a panel of the half -open door with 
a decisive fist. That it was not closed pointed to 
the fact that Edith was within. The next second 
Edith’s sharp tones confirmed it. 

“What do you want?” she demanded angrily 
of Jane. “Have you found my go^vn?” she eyed 
Norma accusingly. 

“I wish to come in.” Jane’s dark brows were 
set for battle. Beckoning Norma to enter, she 
stepped boldly into the room and closed the door. 
“Now we will talk,” she said calmly. “Because 
your gown has disappeared, you accuse Miss Ben- 
nett of stealing it. Are you not ashamed? You 
know that she is not guilty of any such thing. 
She brought your gown to the door of this room 
and found you were not here. So she took it 
back to her own room. After that it disappeared. 
If she had intended to steal it, do you think she 
would have brought it back in the first place? 
You are much stouter than she and at least four 
inches shorter. Is it likely that she could wear 
it?” 

“I don’t believe she brought it back,” flared 
Edith, her dark eyes snapping. “She merely 
says she did. She knows where it is and I shall 



“NOW WE WILL TALK,” SHE SAID CALMLY. 
Jane Allen of the Sub-Team 


Page 308 





OF THE SUB-^TEAM 


309 


make her produce it. I had it made especially 
for this dance and I will have it. If she doesn’t 
return it at once I shall go straight to Mrs. 
Weatherbee.” 

“You will do nothing of the sort.” Jane faced 
Edith, iron determination written on every fea- 
ture. “You will say nothing to anyone. There 
is just one thing to do; find the dress. If it 
cannot be found, I will pay you whatever price 
you may set upon it. But I am sure it will be 
found. I do not believe anyone stole it.” 

“I wouldn’t take your money,” muttered 
Edith. “I want my gown. Where is it?” Jane’s 
steady eyes, alive with stern purpose, caused her 
to quail a trifie. 

“That is precisely what we are going to find 
out. But if you have a spark of honor in you, 
you will not go to Mrs. Weatherbee or anyone 
else with your accusations of Norma. You will 
wait until Norma can prove her innocence. Give 
me your word that you will say nothing at pres- 
ent to anyone.” 

“Very well.” Edith acquiesced sullenly. She 
did not wish to give her word, yet she felt dimly 
that Jane’s will was in some way superior to her 
own. 

“Now, Norma,” began Jane, when they were 


310 


JANE ALLEN 


again out in the hall, ‘‘tell me for whom you did 
work to-day.” 

Falteringly Norma complied. “I had several 
gowns to do,” she explained. “One of them is 
still in my room. I ought to have attended to it 
before now. It’s that pale green frock of Doro- 
thy’s. The sleeve is torn.” 

“What kind of a gown is Edith’s?” It had 
just occurred to Jane that in order to find a 
missing gown it was necessary to have a descrip- 
tion of it. 

“It’s white lace,” answered Norma eagerly. 
“It is ever so much like Judith’s lace dress. I 
noticed that when I laid them both on my bed.” 

“White lace,” mused Jane. “I packed Judy’s 
white gown soon after you brought it in.” 

“It’s a good thing I fixed it first, then. She 
told me she was not going to take it with her.” 
Norma’s dejected face showed some surprise. 
“She asked me to fix that flounce over a week 
ago. Then she kept forgetting to give it to me.” 

“Judy is a prize forgetter.” Jane smiled as 
she made mention of her roommate’s besetting 
sin. All at once her smile vanished. “Norma!” 
she exclaimed. “I know where Edith’s dress is.” 

Seizing Norma by the hand she set off down 
the hall at a run, chuckling as she went. Norma 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


Hi 

kept up with her, though she had no idea of what 
was in her companion’s mind. Jane flung open 
her door. Dropping Norma’s hand, she made a 
dive for the closet and began a hasty inspection 
of its contents. No white lace frock was visible, 
yet she continued to chuckle as she reached for a 
hanger, over which was draped a long muslin slip. 
Pulling aside the white sheath of protection, Jane 
glimpsed underneath the muslin, a cloud of fllmy 
lace. 

With a triumphant cluck she dashed out of the 
closet, tugging at the enveloping white slip. “Is 
this Edith’s dress?” she demanded. 

“That’s it.” Norma gave a faint cry of amaze- 
ment. “Why, how ” She dropped into a 

chair, tears of relief rolling down her pale face. 

“How? That wicked, absent-minded Judy, of 
course.” Jane was rapidly putting the bits of 
the puzzle together. “She was out when I packed 
her things, so she didn’t know that I had put her 
dress into the trunk. When she came back her 
trunk was gone. She said she had several things 
to do and hurried downstairs to luncheon. When 
she came upstairs I was out. I suppose she re- 
membered her dress at the last minute and went 
to your room for it. She was so busy thinking 
about going away that, with her usual absent- 


312 


JANE ALLEN 


mindedness, she picked up Edith’s gown and 
marched off with it. Poor old Judy, she hadn’t 
any idea of the mischief she made. If you hadn’t 
mentioned that she didn’t intend to take her lace 
gown with her, I never would have thought of 
looking in her closet.” 

“I don’t know what would have happened.” 
Norma shuddered as she recalled Edith’s threat. 
“I never can thank you enough, Jane.” 

“Suppose we take it to Miss Hammond now,” 
proposed Jane, patting Norma’s shoulder. “I 
wonder what she will say. Oh, Judy Stearns, 
you absent-minded rascal!” Jane burst into a 
peal of merry laughter, so infectious that Norma 
forgot her sorrows and laughed too. 

“Here is your gown,” was Jane’s salutation as 
Edith answered their knock. “I am sorry to say 
it was stolen by Judith Stearns.” Jane began 
her remarks very soberly. The idea of Judith 
being a thief was too much for her. She laughed 
in Edith’s face. 

“I don’t understand.” Edith’s dark eyes 
roved questioningly from Jane to Norma. Yes, 
it was indeed her gown that Jane was extending 
to her. But what ailed these two that they could 
laugh at what was really serious? And why had 
the theft been laid at Judith Stearns’ door? 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


313 


“Please come in,” she invited with a civility that 
contrasted curiously with her former brusque- 
ness. 

“I shall have to explain,” said Jane as she and 
Norma entered. 

Near the end of the recital laughter again got 
the better of her. Strange to say, Edith was 
also smiling. No one could live long at Madison 
Hall without learning Judith Stearns’ pet fail- 
ing. How it happened Edith could never quite 
understand, but suddenly she heard herself say- 
ing with a tremor in her voice, “Norma, won’t 
you please forgive me? I’ve been horrid to you. 
I am ashamed of myself.” 

Norma’s forgiving hand went out to meet 
Edith’s. “Of course I forgive you. It was just 
a mistake. I am so glad you have your dress.’ 

Edith’s hand strayed nervously over the soft 
folds of lace, then she lifted her head. There was 
a strange light in her brown eyes as she raised 
them to Jane. 

“Miss Allen, when first you came to Welling- 
ton I made a serious mistake about you. I’ve said 
very unkind things to you and of you. I take 
them all back. Some day when I have proved 
that I am good enough to be your friend, I shall 
come to you and ask for your friendship.” 


314 


JANE ALLEN 


“Why not be friends now?” Jane recognized 
sincerity when she met it. Having lived long in 
a man’s world, this direct avowal pleased her 
more than anything Edith could have said. Her 
ready hand followed her generous proposal, and 
thus with one magnanimous sweep Jane Allen 
overcame anotlier obstacle. 


CHAPTER XXVI 

A CRITICAL MOMENT 

N othing of moment occurred to break 
the peaceful monotony of Jane’s Easter 
vacation. Aside from frequent pleasant 
walks which she and Norma took, she derived 
most of her amusement from Firefly. She had 
never ceased to be thankful for her father’s kindly 
foresight. Without her horse, she would have 
experienced far more unhappiness at Welling- 
ton than had fallen to her lot. Strictly speaking, 
Jane could no longer delude herself in regard to 
her new life. She now knew that she did not nor 
would ever again hate college. She had not yet 
reached the point where she could see clearly that 
whatever of good she wished to extract from her 
school life depended upon what she chose to in- 
vest. Still her feet were on the upward trend. 
315 


3i6 


JANE ALLEN 


Slowly but surely she was gaining the upper 
hand of her most stubborn foe, self. 

It was a very repentant Judith who, on her 
return to Wellington, learned from Jane of the 
near catastrophe her absent-mindedness had pre- 
cipitated. She made profound apologies all 
around, vowed eternal reform, then covered her- 
self with glory by carefully wrapping up her 
text-book on trigonometry and presenting it to 
Miss Howard instead of a volume of poems she 
had purchased as an Easter offering to the regis- 
trar. This put her on the first page of the fresh- 
man grind book and utterly shattered the faith 
of her friends in her newly made resolutions. 

As the Saturday of the great game drew near, 
Jane found herself divided between the feeling 
that she ought to attend it and her desire to stay 
away. She had not set foot in the gymnasium 
since the afternoon that had preceded the receipt 
of Miss Hurley’s note. Now she shrank from 
facing her fellow students in a place where the 
tale of her recent misfortune was most apt to be 
bandied about. She confided as much to Judith, 
who made light of her fears and persistently 
pleaded with her to go to the game. 

On the Friday afternoon, Jane was still un- 
decided. She could not make up her mind which 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


317 


course to pursue. As she crossed the campus, 
her last recitation for the afternoon over, sun and 
sky beckoned her to ride Firefly out into the 
open and there consider her problem. 

“I’m going for a ride,” she announced as she 
encountered Judith coming down the steps of 
the hall. 

“I will grant you permission to go,” beamed 
Judith in droll imitation of a certain professor 
at Wellington, whose stiffly starched manners 
were a matter of disrespectful glee to his pupils. 
“By the way, are you going to the game to-mor- 
row?” 

“I don’t know.” Jane shook her head. “I 
will tell you that to-night. I’m going to ride to 
a decision.” 

Putting the disturbing thought away for the 
time, Jane dressed for her ride, and leaving the 
Hall swung briskly along toward the stable. As 
she turned in at the open gate, she swerved a 
trifle to one side to allow a rider to pass out. 
The rider was Alicia Reynolds. Mounted on a 
chestnut horse, Alicia swept past her and onto 
the highway. One quick glance informed Jane 
that the animal needed a sure, skilful hand on the 
rein to insure his good behavior. He jerked his 
head nervously and a wicked glint in his eyes 


318 


JANE ALLEN 


told her that he was not to be trusted. She won- 
dered if Alicia were an experienced horsewoman. 
She had not even known that the girl could ride. 

“That horse is looking for trouble,” she re- 
marked to the stableman, jerking her head 
toward the fast-disappearing animal in question. 

“He’s a bad one, miss,” nodded the man. “I’ve 
only had him here since Easter. The young lady 
says she ain’t afraid of him. I guess she’s rode 
some.” 

“I hope so,” was Jane’s unbelieving comment, 
as she turned to seek Firefly. Alicia had not im- 
pressed her as being an especially skilful rider. 

Well started on her way, Jane forgot Alicia in 
the contemplation of her own problem. Should 
she or should she not attend the game? To go 
meant to face a battery of curious eyes. Gossip- 
ing tongues would promptly wag. To remain 
away — well, that seemed rather cowardly. After 
all, it was not a very important matter. Basket- 
ball was merely one of many features in her col- 
lege life. Still 

Jane wavered and quibbled over the question, 
unable to make up her mind. When, with a sigh, 
she turned reluctantly toward home she had come 
to no decision. 

“I must decide,” she muttered. “That is what 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


319 


I came out here to do. I suppose I had bet- 
ter ” 

The thud of wildly galloping hoofs shattered 
her soliloquy. Jane swung about in her saddle. 
With a cry of alarm she urged Firefly to the 
side of the road as a runaway horse thundered 
by, his rider tugging desperately at the rein. 
Firefly uttered a shrill neigh. He understood 
perfectly what was happening. A sharp com- 
mand from his mistress sent him racing down the 
road in pursuit of the fleeing horse, 

“Oh!” Jane uttered a little scream of horror 
as she saw the rider ahead leave the runaway’s 
back and land in a limp heap at one side of the 
road. By the time she had reached the spot, the 
chestnut horse was out of sight around a curve. 

Leaping from her saddle, Jane ran to where 
Alicia lay. Kneeling beside her, she raised the 
girl’s head and pillowed it on her arm. How 
white and still she was! Jane laid an ear to the 
quiet breast, then raised her head in relief. 
Alicia’s heart was beating faintly. Taking ac- 
count of her surroundings, Jane remembered that 
not far behind her lay a shallow ditch, partially 
filled with water by reason of recent rain. Lay- 
ing Alicia carefully down she sprang on Firefly, 
and turning him about galloped back. Filling a 


320 


JANE ALLEN 


collapsible drinking cup which she always carried 
on her rides, and soaking her handkerchief well, 
she returned to the still figure at the side of the 
road. Then she set to work in earnest. It was 
some minutes, however, before her efforts called 
the stricken girl to consciousness. 

“Where am I? How did you come here?” 
Alicia tried to raise herself and fell limply back 
with a cry of pain. 

“Your horse ran away and threw you. Don’t 
try to move. Where are you hurt? I can’t find 
any broken bones.” Jane raised Alicia to a sit- 
ting posture. 

“I ache all over,” moaned Alicia. “I feel as 
though I’d been shaken into little pieces.” 

“You were lucky not to have broken your neck 
or your back. I hope you’ve escaped with only 
a bad shaking-up. I’m going to try to set you 
on my horse. We are only two miles from the 
Hall. If you can stay on I’ll walk beside you 
and lead him. Don’t be afraid.” Alicia looked 
terrified at the prospect. “He is very gentle. I 
noticed your horse to-day. I didn’t like the way 
he behaved when you rode out of the stable- 
yard.” 

“I thought I could manage him,” quavered 
Alicia. “The man my father bought him from 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


321 


said he could be trusted. I suppose you know a 
good deal about horses.” 

“Yes,” returned Jane briefly. “Now I’m go- 
ing to put you on Firefly.” 

Although Alicia was small and slender, this 
task was not easy of accomplishment. She whim- 
pered continually during the operation, but man- 
aged to keep a swaying seat in the saddle. 

The two miles seemed ten to Jane. Due to 
Alicia’s pitiable condition they were obliged to 
move very slowly. Several times they were 
accosted by curious wayfarers to whom Jane ac- 
corded the briefest of information. It was seven 
o’clock when they reached the Hall. Leaving 
Firefly to stand quietly on the drive, Jane lifted 
Alicia from her horse and staggered to the house. 

Luckily for her, their approach had been 
marked by a student who stood at a window of 
the living room. She promptly raised the alarm. 
Jane was met at the door by a bevy of fright- 
ened girls, who took Alicia from her and bore her 
to the living room. 

During the commotion that ensued, Jane 
slipped away to return patient Firefly to the 
stable. Mrs. Weatherbee had taken charge of 
the situation and a physician had been sum- 
moned. So far as she could see, her work was 


322 


JANE ALLEN 


done. On her return to the Hall Judith, Adri- 
enne and Ethel Lacey pursued her with eager 
questions. Behind the door of her room, Jane 
related the details of the accident. 

“I shall go straight downstairs and bring up 
your dinner,” declared Judith. “You must be 
starved after all you’ve been through.” She 
made a move toward the door, but Jane called to 
her. 

“Please don’t, Judy. I’m going to change my 
habit and go down to the Inn for dinner, and I 
shall not come back until this house has settled 
down. If anyone calls, tell her I am out and 
won’t be back until late. I refuse to play hero- 
ine even for one evening.” 

Judith protested, but Jane was firm. Hastily 
changing her clothing, she stole from the house 
by a side entrance and made for the Inn. With 
Alicia as a center of attraction she was not likely 
to encounter there any of the Hall girls who 
knew of the accident. Lingering long over her 
dinner, she left the Inn and strolled about the 
campus until after nine o’clock. 

“Alicia has been asking for you,” were Judith’s 
words of greeting. “She wants you to come to 
her room. You’d better go. There is no one 
there but Leila Fancher, her roommate. Marian 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


323 


and Maizie have been out all evening. So they 
don’t even know what has happened. You’ve 
had numerous callers, too. I sent them away 
disappointed.” 

J ane eyed J udith irresolutely, half bent on re- 
fusal. 

“Oh, go ahead,” urged Judith. “She is aw- 
fully anxious to see you.” 

Jane climbed the stairs to Alicia’s room with 
unwilling feet. Her knock elicited a faint, “Come 
in.” 

“How are you feeling now?” she asked gently, 
approaching the couch bed on which Alicia lay. 
The girl’s small face was white and drawn. 

“Please come and sit beside me. I wish to 
talk with you. What you have done for me is 
wonderful. I can’t find words to thank you.” 
She regarded Jane wistfully. 

“Please don’t think about it.” Jane made a 
gesture of deprecation. “Anyone else would 
have done the same. I just happened to be on 
the scene first.” 

“You can’t make me believe that.” Alicia 
shook her head with deep positiveness. “I know 
better. You are a strange girl; so strong and 
brave and great-hearted. Are all Western girls 
like you?” 


324 


JANE ALLEN 


“I don’t know.” Jane scowled to hide her em- 
barrassment. She did not relish Alicia’s lioniz- 
ing of herself. “I have met few Western girls. 
What did the doctor say about you?” 

“He said he thought I would be all right in a 
few days. Only I must lie still. I’m just badly 
shaken from being thrown off my horse so vio- 
lently.” 

“I am glad to hear that. If there is anything 
I can do for you, let me know.” Jane rose from 
the chair she had pulled up beside Alicia. She 
was aching to conclude the interview. “I forgot 
to tell you that a man caught your horse and 
returned him to the stable.” 

“Don’t go,” begged the invalid. “There is 
something I must say to you.” Her mind was 
not on her runaway horse. “I am sorry ” 

“Oh, never mind that!” Jane was almost rude 
in her eagerness to be gone. 

“But I must!” Alicia’s lips quivered omin- 
ously. “Because I’ve thought of a way to show 
you that I am truly sorry. I want you to take 
my place on the team to-morrow. By rights it 
should have been yours long ago. Ever so many 
times I thought of resigning, but — well, I didn’t.” 
She generously refrained from bringing Marian 
Seaton into the discussion. “If you play on my 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


325 


position the freshman team will win. I am al- 
most glad all this happened.” 

Jane stared hard at Alicia. Had she heard 
aright? For an instant she thrilled at the very 
thought of the proposal. Then remembrance 
swept over her like a chilling wave. Eager to 
make restitution, this helpless penitent had not 
considered Miss Hurley. 

‘T couldn’t do that,” she refused. ‘Tn the 
first place, I’d rather not. Besides, Miss Hurley 
wouldn’t consent to it. You know she asked me 
to resign from the practice team.” Jane could 
not resist making this one pertinent reminder. 

The slow color crept into Alicia’s white cheeks. 
“You know why she asked you to resign, don’t 
you?” she asked in a low voice. 

“Yes; I know,” admitted Jane. 

A painful silence fell upon the room. Jane 
frowned harder than ever, while the girl on the 
couch suffered untold agony of spirit. 

“Miss Hurley was here this evening. I sent 
for her to come to me.” Alicia half raised from 
the bed, bracing herself with her hands. “You 
will receive a note from her in the morning.” 
She lay back wearily on her pillow, slow tears 
trickling down her cheeks. “Promise me that 
you will play. Not for me, but for the honor of 


326 


JANE ALLEN 


the freshmen. We must win the pennant.” 

Although Alicia did not know it, she had ad- 
vanced a powerful argument, calculated to shake 
Jane’s resolve not to play on the following day. 
Miss Hurley’s change of attitude at this late date 
meant nothing. “For the honor of the fresh- 
men” rang in her ears like a clarion call to duty. 

“But why do you not ask some other girl on 
the sub-team?” she heard herself question. She 
felt that she was weakening and fought desper- 
ately against yielding. 

“I don’t want any other girl. I want you,” 
persisted Alicia. “Judith, Adrienne and Chris- 
tine will be glad if you do. As for Marian Sea- 
ton — it makes no difference about her. After 
this, she and I can’t go on as we have. When I 
came to Wellington I had a few ideals about 
respecting its traditions and all that. Somehow 
I never did anything I had planned to do. I 
just drifted into being a snob. I used to have 
dreadful fights with myself about it, but I never 
seemed to find the courage to be myself until 
to-night. But I am going to be different.” She 
fixed her eye on Jane with tragic solemnity. 

The intense purpose of that earnest confession 
was too much for Jane. Here, then, was some- 
one else who had been waging war against her- 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


327 


self. How little, after all, could one human being 
know what went on in the mind of another. To 
grow spiritually, one must continually struggle 
upward toward the highest. In order to do that 
one must find and know oneself. Alicia had 
found herself. Jane felt that at times she too 
had glimpsed flashes of her own powers for good 
or evil. Yet she was not sure. Still, at this 
critical moment it dawned upon her that aside 
from the honor of her class, some inner hidden 
force demanded her acquiescence to Alicia’s plea. 

“I will play to-morrow,” she said. “For the 
honor of the freshmen, and for you.” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE GREAT GAME 

O N Saturday afternoon the gymnasium of 
Wellington College presented a scene of 
unusual activity. Due to the untiring 
efforts of the sophomores and freshmen it was 
liberally decorated with their respective colors. 
As nearly all of the students had elected to be- 
come ardent fans, huge rosettes and streamers, 
sophomore wistaria and white, or freshman green 
and gold, ornamented their loyal persons. 

Long before the game began the spectators 
were in evidence. They crowded the gallery and 
filled the roped-in portion of the playing floor to 
the last inch of space. On one side of the gal- 
lery was the freshman glee club, eager and ready 
Ito burst into inspiring song, while opposite them 
were their sophomore sisters who had been de- 
tailed for a similar service to their team. 

328 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


329 


As usual the front seats of the gallery had 
been reserved for the faculty. President Blakes- 
ly. Miss Rutledge, Miss Howard, in short, nearly 
all of the members of the faculty had chosen to 
honor the occasion with their presence. All this 
tended to point to the importance of the contest 
about to take place, and both classes were jubil- 
ant by reason of such distinguished attendance. 

The game was to be called at two-fifteen. Pre- 
cisely at two o’clock the freshmen choirsters rose 
in their places and burst into the vocal admoni- 
tion: 

“Our freshmen, ’tis of thee 
We sing most loyally; 

Team of our pride ! 

To-day thy valor show. 

The ball to basket throw, 

Whitewash the haughty foe; 

Score for our side.” 

They had hardly finished when the sophomore 
singers responded with a defiant challenge to the 
time of “Forsaken.” 

“We’ll beat them, we’ll beat them! 

We’ll shatter their dream 
Of stealing the pennant 


330 


JANE ALLEN 


Away from our team. 

Oh, let them be wary 

And shake in their shoes I 

The sophomores must conquer; 

The freshmen must lose!” 

The freshmen, however, had a ready and tune- 
ful retort to this, but before they had finished 
singing it the warning whistle of the referee 
signaled to them to desist. At a second blast 
of the whistle a slender, golden-haired figure in 
a Greek gown of green, bordered with gold, 
issued from the freshman dressing room. On 
her head was a gilt crown, while in her hands she 
bore a golden lyre, which freshman ingenuity 
had fashioned with difficulty of pasteboard and 
string, and painstakingly gilded. Both crown 
and lyre modestly hinted at undoubted victory. 

At the same moment a full-fledged Indian 
chief burst into view from the sophomore dress- 
ing room. In his belt was an enormous purple 
tomahawk, of the proportions of a battle-axe, 
while dangling carelessly from his shoulder was 
a string of what perilously resembled five scalps. 
He carried a huge purple and white banner and 
waved it as he walked, with the air of a con- 
queror. 


OF THE SUB-TEAM 


331 


“Ladies and gentlemen,” announced the gol- 
den-haired girl. “We have with us this after- 
noon the winning freshmen. To the brave be- 
longs the victory!” 

As she finished her speech, partially drowned 
by tumultuous applause, the green and gold 
players pattered across the floor, to the tune of 
further acclamation. 

“Big sophomore chief!” sonorously intoned the 
distinguished representative of the sophomores, 
waving his banner and brandishing his tomahawk 
at the same time. 

He also received his quota of applause. The 
two mascots then bowed low and made a digni- 
fied march off the floor. 

“Tr-ill, tr-ill!” shrieked the faithful whistle, 
and the two teams sprang into position for the 
toss up. 

To Jane Allen, as she stood ready for action, 
it was the supreme moment of her life. The gay 
decorations, the clamoring audience, the opening 
ceremony of introduction by the mascots, thrilled 
her to the core. Most wonderful of all, she was 
at last a part of that which she had so often vainly 
dreamed. 

The sophomores won the toss-up and encour- 
aged by the jubilant shouts of their fans pro- 


332 


JANE ALLEN 


ceeded to show the freshmen a few things about 
basket-ball. Their opponents, however, were of 
the opinion that they could do better themselves, 
and entered the fray with an energy and speed 
that kept their elder sisters hustling. With 
Alicia Reynolds off the squad and Jane on, they 
made a most formidible combination and scored 
repeatedly. 

On learning of the change Alicia had willed, 
Marian Seaton’s anger was not pleasant to wit- 
ness. On returning to the Hall just before half- 
past ten of the previous evening, she and Maizie 
Gilbert had learned of the accident. Early Sat- 
urday morning she had sought Alicia in the hope 
that the latter might be able to take her place 
on the team. When Alicia had calmly apprised 
her of the news that Jane Allen was to replace 
her, Marian had flown into a rage and expressed 
her opinion of Alicia in scathing terms. Deter- 
mined from now on to stand by her colors, Alicia 
had declared herself once and for all, thus ending 
the intimacy between the two girls. 

Marian had then sought Roberta Hurley, but 
found that she had already written Jane the fatal 
note, the sending of which Marian had hoped to 
be in time to prevent. Miss Hurley had reluc- 
tantly admitted that it was too bad, but had 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


333 


lamely explained that to refuse Alicia’s request 
after what had happened would bring censure 
down upon her own head. So Marian had been 
obliged to retire in wrathful defeat. 

In the dressing room she had refused to notice 
any of her teammates. This troubled them little. 
If only Marian would play in her usual form, 
they cared nothing for her personal opinion of 
them. 

As the game proceeded it was noted with relief 
by at least three of them that Marian intended 
to do her best so far as her work on the floor 
went. Jane, however, was too much occupied 
with her own business to remember Marian’s per- 
sonal existence. She was in her glory, and her 
clever footwork, swift, lithe movements and 
quick, catlike springs won for her that day a last- 
ing reputation as a star player. 

At the end of the first half the freshmen were 
several points ahead. From the beginning of the 
second half they kept the lead and went on piling 
up their score. The sophomores worked with 
desperate energy and made some fine plays. Still 
they lost several points on fouls and once or twice 
their passing was not up to their usual standard. 
The amazing manner in which their opponents 
signaled and carried out their plays tended to 


334 


JANE ALLEN 


unnerve them. They did not do as well in the 
last half as in the first, and several minutes before ' 
the final whistle blew they knew that defeat was 
imminent. 

To Jane fell the star play of the afternoon: a 
long overhand throw to basket. Coming as it did 
just before the end of the game, it awoke a per- 
fect fury of acclamation and added one more bit 
of glory to the freshman score. Jane Allen had 
indeed proved her right to play on the team. 

When the result of the game was announced, 
18-10 in favor of the freshmen, there came an- 
other wild outburst which good-natured Presi- 
dent Blakesly made no effort to suppress. 

Jane found herself the center of an admiring 
throng from which she broke away with difficulty. 
She had done her work and done it well, but now 
that the game was over and the freshmen had 
won she was anxious to be off on an errand of 
her own. She had promised to visit Alicia and 
give her an account of the game. 

“ ‘The sophomores must conquer; 

The freshmen must lose,’ ” 

quoted Judith derisively, as the four friends 
gathered in the dressing room. Marian Seaton 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


335 


had not put in an appearance as yet. She was 
purposely loitering in the gymnasium until the 
quartette she disliked had taken their departure. 

“Yes; it looks like it now, doesn’t it?” laughed 
Christine Elhs. “It may sound conceited, but, 
girls, I never saw a team work together so beau- 
tifully as ours played to-day. As for Jane, she 
is the original basket-ball artist.” 

“I was merely lucky to-day,” deprecated Jane. 
“Things seemed to come my way. Another time 
I might disgrace you.” 

“I only hope there will be ‘another time’ next 
year,” declared Judith. “Then we shall be able 
to prove to you that luck had nothing to do with 
your playing. I envy you that last throw to 
basket.” 

“Ah, yes,” sighed Adrienne, “we are of a truth 
green-eyed with jealousy. Is it not sad that we 
shall play the splendid basket-ball no more this 
year? It makes heartache.” She laid a small 
hand dramatically over her heart. 

“It certainly does,” agreed Christine practi- 
cally. “All we can do is to try for the team next 
year. Unless some of the subs outplay us at the 
try-out, we ought to make it.” 

“I hope ” began Judith, then stopped. 

“You needn’t say it,” smiled Christine. “We 


33 ^ 


JANE ALLEN 


understand. Personally, so do I. From the 
standpoint of basket-ball, she’s a clever player. 
That’s all I have to say on the subject.” 

No one else saw fit to comment upon Marian 
Seaton. In the hour of victory they were dis- 
posed to be charitable. 

“You are cordially invited to attend a spread 
this evening at the home of the Misses Stearns 
and Allen,” invited Judith, as a little later the 
four girls halted at the parting of their ways for 
a moment’s further chat. 

‘T have a brilliant idea.” Jane had had very 
little to say until she made this sudden remark. 
Her mind was on a white-faced girl who lay 
quietly in her room awaiting the return of 
strength. 

“Name it,” said Christine. 

“Why not give the spread for Alicia, and in 
her room? She would like it, I am sure, and I 
feel as though we owed it to her.” Jane spoke 
with deep seriousness. 

Her proposal rather electrified her friends. 
Nevertheless they loyally rose to it. 

“That is most sweet in you, Jane,” approved 
Adrienne. “It is very horrible to be shut in the 
room and lie on the couch when the spring is 
here and all is thus beautiful outdoors. Alicia I 


OF THE SUB^TEAM 


337 


do not know very well, and that little I have not 
liked, but the accident has brought the reform.” 

“It was splendid in her to do what she did for 
me. I like her very much.” Jane emphasized 
the last sentence. 

“All those in favor of Jane’s plan say ‘Aye,’ ” 
stated Judith. “That means you and Adrienne, 
Christine.” 

“Aye, aye,” came the response, and the four 
separated, as Adrienne had an errand to do in 
town and Christine was bound for Argyle Hall. 

“Jane Allen, do you realize that the year is 
almost over?” asked Judith as they strolled across 
the campus. “In less than two months we’ll be 
homeward bound.” 

“I know it.” Jane’s heart beat a little faster 
at the words, “homeward bound.” Looking back 
on the beginning of her college year, she won- 
dered at the swift passage of time. Yes, she 
would soon be speeding West to her father and 
dear old Capitan. Yet into her joy crept a tinge 
of regret. After all, she would be a little sorry 
to leave Wellington. 

“Are you sorry to leave college, Judy?” she 
asked slowly. 

“Of course,” nodded Judith. “I’ve liked it 
from the beginning, you know. And the girls; 


338 


JANE ALLEN 


I hate saying good-bye. I hate leaving you the 
most, though. What will poor Judy do without 
her ‘wild and woolly cow-girl’?” 

“I shall miss you, too, and, really, Judy, I shall 
miss college. I am glad that I’m coming back.” 

“Hurrah for you!” Judith waved a jubilant 
hand. “And we’ll be roommates again. That 
is, if you want me for a roommate. Remember 
my pet failing.” 

“You know I want you for a roommate. Just 
remember yourself that if it hadn’t been for your 
‘failing’ we might never have come to an under- 
standing.” 

“ ‘Out of evil some good is sure to come,’ ” 
quoted Judith. “Next fall we won’t have to wait 
weeks to get acquainted.” 

“I am going to make every single day of next 
year count,” was Jane’s firm resolution. 

How Jane Allen kept her promise to herself 
during her sophomore year at Wellington Col- 
lege and what befell her as a “fighting pioneer” 
is a story which remains to be told in *'Jane 
Allen, Right Guard.” 


THE END 


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The dearest character 
in all the literature of 
child life is little Remi 
in Hector Malot’s fa- 
mous masterpiece Sans 
Fa mi lie (“ N obody ’s 

Boy’O* 

All love, pathos, loyal- 
ty, and noble boy character are exemplified 
in this homeless little lad, who has made the 
world better for his being in it. The boy or 
girl who knows Remi has an ideal never to 
be forgotten. But it is a story for grown- 
ups, too. 


‘‘Nobody’s Boy” is one of the supreme 
heart-interest stories of all time, which will 
make you happier and better. 

, 4 Colored Illustrations. $1.25 net. 

^ ^ At All Booksellers 


CUPPLES & LEON CO. 


Publishers 


New York 
















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